on the side of her face. She said she'd had a bad fall at home. She didn't answer when he asked where her home was. Then, after another minute or two, Gary asked her with all innocence if she ever took a bath, and Cathy shushed him and laughed nervously but Laura said it was okay, she'd been on the road a long time.
Joe took the Halleck exit. It wasn't much of a town, just a few cinderblock buildings, some weatherbeaten houses, a diner made from an old train car, and a stucco post office with an American flag snapping in the wind. But one of the cinderblock buildings bore a crudely painted sign that identified it as Marco's Garage, with a row of gas pumps out front and a couple of cars sitting around that looked as if they'd been stripped by pack rats. Behind the garage was a dump of old car hulks and a mound of bald tires. There was a bright orange towtruck, though, and Joe Sheffield pulled his station wagon up beside it.
A man emerged from inside one of the two garage bays. He was short and stocky as a fireplug, and he wore grease-stained overalls and a T-shirt, his muscular arms covered with tattoos from wrists to shoulders. His hands were black with grime. He was also slick bald, and had on yellow-tinted goggles.
'Well!' Joe said cheerfully. 'Here's somebody!'
Laura had a moment of knowing what she should do. She should pull her gun, order the Sheffields out of the station wagon, and leave them there while she sped on after Mary. Marco's Garage was an armpit, and getting her car fixed here was going to be a trial by frustration. She should pull the gun and take the station wagon, and she should do it right now.
But the moment passed. They were good people. There was no need to mark their lives with the barrel of a gun even though she never would dream of using it as anything but a bluff. Some hard case, she thought.
'Thanks for the lift,' she told them, and got out.
The station wagon pulled away. Gary waved at her through the rear window. And then Laura turned to face the bald-headed grease monkey who stood about three inches shorter than her and stared up at her through his yellow goggles like a bullfrog.
'You fix cars?' she asked stupidly.
'Naw.' He laughed like a snort. 'I eat 'em!'
'My car's broken down a couple of miles from Deeth. Can you tow it here?'
'How come you didn't go to Deeth, then?'
'I was heading west. I came here. Can you tow it?' She realized the tattoos on the man's arms were interlocked figures of naked women.
'Busy right now. Got a car in both bays and two waitin'.'
'Okay. When can you tow it?'
'An hour, give or take.'
Laura shook her head. 'No. I can't wait that long.'
'Sorry, but that's the breaks. 'See, I'm all alone here. I'm Marco, like the sign says.'
'I want you to go get my car right now.'
He frowned, deep lines furrowing across his broad forehead. 'Got wax in your ears, babe? I said I -'
Laura had the gun in her hand. She placed it against his bald skull. 'What did you say?'
Marco swallowed, his Adam's apple bulging. 'I… said… I'm ready when you are, babe.'
'Don't call me babe.'
'Okay,' he said. 'Whatever you say, chief.'
On the subject of baths, Marco had a lot to learn. Laura knew she didn't smell like roses, but Marco exuded an odor of stale sweat and dirty underwear that made one wish for a whiff of Limburger cheese. At the Cutlass, Marco peered into the radiator and whistled. 'Hey, chief! You ever heard of puttin' coolant in this thing? You got enough rust in here to sink a battleship!'
'Can you fix it?'
'You can shoot it and put it out of its misery.' He looked at the gun Laura held by her side. 'Why don't you put that away now, Annie Oakley? Have I got a target on my ass?'
'I have to get back on the road. Can you fix it or not?' The towtruck was starting to look attractive, but trying to steer that damned thing with one hand and an elbow would be beastly.
'You want honest or bullshit?' he asked her. 'Bullshit says yeah, sure, no sweat. Honest says you'll need a new radiator, bottom line. Got some rotten hoses in there and belts that are about to go. Oil lines look like a rat's been chewin' on 'em. You still with me?'
'Yes.'
'Major labor,' he went on, and he scratched his pate with black fingers. 'Have to find a radiator that'll fit this clunker. Probably have to drive to the parts shop in Elko to get one. We're talkin' two big bills, and I'm not gonna be able to even get started good before closin' time.'
'I can spend four hundred dollars,' Laura said. In her pocket was five hundred and thirty-four dollars, what remained of the cash from her engagement diamond. 'Can I buy a used car around here anywhere?'
'Yeah, I can find you somethin'.' He cocked his head at her, his hands on his bulbous hips. 'It'll have an engine, but it might not have a floorboard in it. Four bills ain't gonna buy you much, unless…' He grinned, showing a silver tooth. 'You got somethin' to trade?'
She pretended not to have heard that, because he was real close to becoming a soprano. She needed his hands, not his dubious equipment. 'How about your car, then?'
'Sorry, chief. I'm a Harley man.'
'I'll pay you four hundred and fifty dollars to fix my car,' she said. 'Except I want you to keep working on it until it's finished.'
The lines furrowed deep again. 'What's the rush? You kill somebody?'
'No. I'm in a hurry to get where I'm going.'
He prodded at the right front tire with a boot that had been scrubbed with steel wool. 'Let's see your money,' he said.
Laura returned the pistol to her waistband, reached into her pocket, and showed him the cash. 'Can you do it in three hours?'
Marco paused, thinking about it. He looked up at the sun in the cloud-dappled sky, back to the radiator, and sucked air across his lower lip. 'I can put a radiator in and do a patch job. Got a retarded kid who helps me sometimes, if he ain't readin' his Batman funnies. Have to close down the pumps and shut up shop except for the one job. Elko's about twenty miles there and back. Four hours, minimum.'
It was approaching three o'clock. That would get her out of there by seven. San Francisco was still over five hundred miles away, and Freestone another fifty miles north, according to the maps. If she drove all night she could make Freestone before dawn. But when would Mary get there? Sometime after midnight if she kept going straight through. Laura felt tears pressing to burst free. God had turned a blind eye. Mary was going to get to Freestone at least four hours before she would.
'That's the best I can do, chief,' Marco said. 'Honest.'
Laura drew a deep breath. They were wasting time talking. 'Get it done,' she said.
5: Little Black Snakes
'How many nights?' The desk clerk asked, glasses perched on the end of his nose.
'Just one,' she said.
He gave her a piece of paper on which to fill out her name and address. She put down Mrs. Jack Morrison, 1972 Linden Avenue, Richmond, Virginia. Across the top of the paper was Luxmore Motel, Santa Rosa, California.
'Sweet little baby, yes she is!' The clerk reached over the registration desk to tickle Drummer under the chin. Drummer didn't like it; he was tired and hungry, and he squirmed restlessly in Mary's arms.
'My son,' Mary said. She drew away, and the clerk offered a chilly smile and got her room key. 'I'll need a wake-up call,' she decided. 'Five o'clock.'
'Five o'clock. Wake-up call for Room Twenty-six. Got it, Mrs. – ' He checked the paper. 'Mrs. Morrison.' He pushed his glasses off his nose. 'Ah… cash in advance, please.'
Mary paid him the thirty dollars. She left the motel office, limping into the cool, damp air of northern
