slip through. He glances down and sees the cacti they had forced him to plant. “Since we can ’ t make you ‘ work, ’ ” they said, “you will work.” He had dug and planted for endless hot days, the spiny needles tearing at his flesh, as he secured his own prison. Now he sees the car enter the compound — it is the Fancy Man. He stands, looks a last time out the window at the arrival, and then crosses to the cinder block to finish his sharpening…
Paul had been staring through the binoculars for much of the day, the rubber cups on the eyepieces cutting into his face, when he finally saw it. A car, an older Cadillac, was approaching, and he ’ d just looked away from it when he saw a figure flash by a window. The person ’ s coloring stood out from the dark-skinned, dark-haired background that Mexico had come to be in his mind ’ s eye. The familiar rose up through all improbability and grabbed him by the throat. He knew what he ’ d seen. Before he realized it, he had climbed to one knee and was in the process of starting to run straight down the hill. Behr ’ s hand shot out, gripped Paul ’ s calf, and yanked him back down on his belly in the dust.
“You have heat stroke?” Behr asked.
“Frank,” Paul gasped. He felt Behr looking at him, saw with his peripheral vision that Behr ’ s hand was extended for the field glasses.
“What is it?”
“He ’ s there — ”
“What?”
“He’s there. Jamie.”
FORTY-ONE
Ponceterra’s Eldorado moved through the gate in a dust cloud of its own making. Paco had swung the gate back into place behind him by the time he ’ d gotten out of his car. Ponceterra regarded the air of the compound. Is something different today? he wondered.
“Buenas tardes, patrуn,” Paco said.
Ponceterra ignored him and moved toward the main house, his mind occupied with two things: whether or not Esteban had been successful and the rubio. He had been limiting his visits, staying away so as not to push him too hard, but considered if he should look in on him today. Perhaps all the waiting and careful cajoling would finally cause the boy to yield. And then he thought of Esteban ’ s project: the gueros. Were they merely new customers or could they be trouble? His people were armed with meticulous instructions for avoiding the wrong kinds of clients. And they knew the punishment for failing to follow said instructions was utterly severe.
Suddenly Don Ramon stopped. Why not be safe and make a new password today? He called out to Paco, “ Hay una nueva contraseсa hoy
…” Then he quietly spoke it. “Let them know in town.”
“ Sн, jefe. ” Paco nodded.
Don Ramon entered the main house. The lights were off and all was quiet, as it would be for at least two more hours. Fat Miguel jumped up from a sofa, his magazine falling to the floor, at Don Ramon ’ s arrival.
“Esteban?” Don Ramon demanded.
“Oficina.” Miguel bent and picked up his magazine.
Ponceterra swung the office door open to find Esteban in the middle of his work on the young man from town. The man was slumped on the floor, wedged against the wall in a heap, his head hanging forward, hair and face a mess of sweat and blood. Esteban turned, the look on his face that of a patient butcher.
“їQuй pasу? ” Ponceterra asked.
“Un ratito.”
Four men on the premises had always been enough. Management of the working boys was simple, and no customer had ever given any trouble. Then of course there were the dogs. But seeing the violence in front of him made him wonder.
“ Todos saben — ” he began, asking whether the guards knew to be vigilant.
“Sн, patrуn.” Esteban quarter turned, ready to go back to his work.
Ponceterra could see that Esteban had everything in hand. The policнa would stay far away, as arranged, and on the off chance the men who had been inquiring found the rancho, his security was well ready for them. Beyond that he knew that Esteban would learn who these men were, even if they never came, and he would hunt them down. Esteban would follow their trail over road, over river and rocky ground, and even across borders, until he killed them in their own beds if Don Ramon so ordered it. He nodded for Esteban to continue and closed the door. He would wait at the rancho until Esteban was done, but he felt the pull from the room down the hall. Perhaps just a short visit, some quiet time together, he thought, since I ’ m here.
The screams had just stopped, and the silence was more horrible than even the noise. He gripped his weapon, scraping the edge more quickly on the cinder block. Then he heard footsteps and stopped. He stood and looked at the sharp point he had created. It seemed there was no more time. It would have to do.
FORTY-TWO
They drove in silence. The coming dusk finally brought promise of cooler air that spilled in the open car windows. The final period of waiting had passed as a painful, nearly physical trial. They had handed the binoculars back and forth between them many times, Behr trying to see for himself what Paul had witnessed and Paul trying to see it again.
“You ’ re sure?” Behr had asked over and over, until Paul had stopped answering. Paul had checked the repeated urge to rush down on the place. He put his trust in Behr ’ s judgment that dusk was the best time for them to make their move.
“It won ’ t work, us just rambling in and kicking up dust as we go straight at the place,” Behr said.
They had used the cover of the rise, driving behind it until it ran out and then tracked north and east in a big loop that kept them out of sight of the compound. Once they had traveled perhaps a dozen miles they tacked left and began looking for the dirt road that would lead them in the conventional way they ’ d seen other vehicles arrive.
Paul ’ s mind raced and his heart hammered as they drove. He had a thousand questions fighting in his brain and the result was that none reached his tongue. He looked over at Behr ’ s left hand gripping the steering wheel as he stared intently out the wind-shield, only turning occasionally to check their coordinates in the desert by instinct like a seasoned mariner in familiar waters.
“Frank,” Paul finally asked after a moment, “how did you get the password?”
“It ’ s not important,” he said.
“No?” Paul ’ s eyes were on Behr ’ s left wrist, now naked of his watch. Behr saw this and switched hands on the wheel.
“It ’ s not important,” Behr said again.
The car bounced low into the ditch that ran alongside the road, then the suspension gathered and they surged up onto the surface. It had appeared like magic, a line dissecting the empty wasteland that stretched endlessly in all directions. Behr spun the wheel and made the left turn as if he was pulling into his driveway. They drove on, nothingness ahead of them, until it seemed they would continue on forever into an endless void. And then, sticking up out of the desert like antennae, they saw the light poles. Paul swallowed. Behr ’ s hand tightened on the steering wheel like he was trying to wring an elixir from it. The coiled wire atop the fence came into view next, and after that the whole place. They could see the two vehicles they had seen arrive from their vantage point: the pickup and the well-kept Cadillac Eldorado. Wandering over from one side of the entrance came the gate guard, the day man every bit as large as his nighttime counterpart.
“Hopefully he speaks some English and we can use this password. Otherwise…”
Paul nodded. He glanced at the backseat, where a. 12-gauge pump shotgun rested beneath a beach towel.
