He plugged the required change into the phone. 'I'm an insurance investigator,' he said. 'I'll be in town tomorrow, and I need a copy of a police report on the double. I don't want to have to wait around for it once I get there.'
'Have you done business with our firm before?'
'Yes, but it's been several years.'
'Are you familiar with our new location?'
'No.
'We're on Speedway, just east of the university, in a house that's been converted into offices.'
Just the thought of being close to the university made Carlisle uncomfortable. He was always afraid of running into someone he knew.
'Will you be coming by in person?'
'No,' he said. 'Someone will be in to pick it up.'
'Fine. What report is it you need?'
'The accident that happened on the Kitt Peak Road last Friday.'
'Case number?'
'I don't have it with me.'
'Anything else?'
'No. That's all.'
'Very good. That'll be one hundred-fifty dollars, cash on delivery.
Please place the cash in an envelope. We'll have another envelope here waiting for you. What name should I put on it?'
'Spaulding,' he said, suddenly unable to resist the joke.
'Myrna Louise Spaulding. She'll be in to pick it up around noon.'
'Very good. Anything else?'
'No, ma'am,' Carlisle responded cheerfully. 'It's a pleasure doing business with you.'
Fat Crack brought Looks At Nothing home to his house where Wanda Ortiz, the younger man's unfailingly cheerful wife, served them a dinner of chili, beans, and fresh tortillas.
She was mystified about her husband spending so much time with the old medicine man, but she said nothing. As a good husband and provider, Gabe was allowed his little foibles now and then.
'We will need some clay,' Looks At Nothing said, 'white clay from Baboquivari to make the gruel.'
Fat Crack nodded. 'Right. I know where to find such clay.'
'And the singers?' Looks At Nothing asked.
'I know nothing at all about singers.'
:,The best ones for this come from Crow Hang. It will be expensive.
You must feed them all four days.'
Fat Crack nodded. 'My aunt says she will pay whatever it costs from her basket money. The singers can stay here at my house. Wanda will do the cooking. I will see about them tomorrow when I pick my aunt up from the hospital to take her home.'
'Your wife is a good woman,' Looks At Nothing said.
'You are lucky to have her.'
'I know,' Fat Crack agreed.
They were sitting outside under the stars. Looks At Nothing lit another crooked cigarette from his seemingly endless supply. He took a puff and passed it. 'Nawqj,' he said.
'Nawoj,' Fat Crack replied.
Far away from them, across the horizon, a bank of clouds bubbled with lightning. The rains were coming, probably before the end of the week.
'You would make a good medicine man,' Looks At Nothing said thoughtfully. 'You understood how the enemy could be both Apache and not Apache long before I did.
Perhaps I am getting too old.'
'You are old,' Fat Crack returned, 'but not too old.
Besides, in my religion I am already a medicine man of sorts, a practitioner.'
'What kind of religion is this? White man's religion?'
'Christian Scientist.'
'Christian I understand. That is like Father John. What is Scientist?'
Fat Crack considered for a moment. 'We believe,' he said, 'that God's power flows through all of us.'
