A moment later, Jane’s sounds simply faded and were gone. Rita knew that Jane must have made it to the end. Rita struggled and strained to go faster, and finally she felt a fresh, cool breeze on her cheek. Jane’s whisper came from close to her ear. “You did a great job, Rita. Stay still for a second.”
This time Rita could see the glow of the headlights on the plants on the left slope of the arroyo twenty feet ahead of her. The lights brightened, and the engine sound got louder and lower. Then there was darkness and the engine sound went up the register until it was a distant whine. “Time to move on,” said Jane.
She helped Rita out of the culvert and pulled her to her feet, then set off again. This side of the road seemed to be the same random arrangement of rocks and bushes and plants as the other side, but Jane appeared to know where she wanted to go. After what seemed to be a long run, Rita could see the other road that they had been afraid to cross.
Jane stopped fifty feet from the road, then began to walk along it in a parallel course, staying low and staring at the rocks and bushes ahead of her. Suddenly she turned and hurried toward the road, and knelt down as though to pick something up. When Jane stood up again, Rita could see that what she had bent to grasp was Bernie’s arm. She was pulling him to his feet.
Rita trotted to catch up, then watched Jane set the shotgun on the ground and kick dirt over it.
Jane said, “We cross the road here, and make our way two blocks straight ahead before we get back on Canyon. The car is a black Ford Explorer, parked on the right about three blocks farther on.”
Jane hurried them to the shoulder of the road. Rita could see the car that had stopped to look for them parked in its spot a few hundred feet away. “You and Bernie go first,” Rita said. “If they see you, I can still pick up the—” and Jane’s hand grasped her wrist and yanked her onto the road. They ran a few steps and they were across, moving into the shadows of buildings and trees.
They were on a road parallel to Canyon Road, walking fast. After a few minutes of walking, Jane turned to the left, and then right. Jane said, “There. See it?”
They walked on until they came to the black shape Jane had pointed to. Jane swung the door open, climbed up into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Seconds later, Rita had pushed Bernie into the back seat and was beside Jane, closing the passenger door. Jane pulled out, moved up the street, and took the first turn before she switched on the lights.
It seemed to Rita that it took a terribly long time for Jane to drive across town. At each intersection, Jane would look into the mirror over her head before she brought the Explorer to a stop. But then she accelerated, took a turn, and they were moving up the ramp onto the freeway. They passed under a sign that said ALBUQUERQUE.
Jane drove, and they sat in silence for a long time. Finally, Rita spoke. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” asked Bernie.
“This was my fault,” Rita said, louder. “I did this. Jane made us safe, and I threw it away.”
Jane waited for Rita to speak again for a minute, then another minute. Finally she said, “It was not a smart thing to do. It also wasn’t an evil thing, or a selfish thing, or a cowardly thing. You made a mistake, you did everything you could to fix it, and it’s over. We’re all alive, and they don’t know where we went.”
“Where did we go?” asked Rita.
“Good question,” said Jane. “I don’t know yet. I guess we’ll have to do some thinking. We’ll pick a place, and I’ll try to start getting you settled: rent a house, buy clothes—”
Bernie interrupted. “Honey, where were you when you found out about Rita’s letter and came back for us?”
“Toledo, Ohio,” said Jane. “Why?”
“Just at the north end of Albuquerque we meet Interstate 40. Go east on it.”
Jane hesitated. “You can’t possibly want—”
“It’s this truck, or whatever it is. It’s full of letters back here. The damned things take up so much space, I can hardly move my arms or legs, lie down, or sit up. Let’s go mail them.”
“I don’t know,” said Jane doubtfully. She found herself turning her eyes toward Rita.
The girl was hunched down in her seat, looking very young, thin, and dirty. Her eyes were glistening, and she was staring at Jane. “Please,” she said. “Just give us this much. We can hide for the rest of our lives.”
29
Frank Delfina liked his Albuquerque bottled-water business because it didn’t stink. Flower shops smelled, bakeries smelled. Even supermarkets smelled if you came in the back door, where the food was delivered. There was breakage, and you always found yourself stepping on a spot that made your shoe stick, and then the sole made a little smacking noise for the next few minutes. He looked across the plant at the clean, clear bottles waiting for tomorrow morning’s shift to come in and fill them.
He liked everything. He liked it that people were dumb enough to believe that spring water driven down from the mountains in a truck was better than water that came from the same reservoir in a pipe, although they couldn’t tell the difference. He knew that, because this plant topped off each bottle with about two inches of tap water.
Delfina didn’t like flying into Albuquerque and then waiting like this. He noticed Buccio walking toward him from the distant doorway, and he stared at him in frustration. He had let himself put faith in Buccio and his crew, and it had been a mistake. Buccio had the short-haired, big-shouldered look of a marine officer, always standing up straight and wearing his sleeves rolled up above his big forearms, as though he were about to do something impressive. He always looked like somebody who could pull off just about anything, and to do him credit, he was always eager to try. But that didn’t mean things would work. Delfina had almost let Buccio and his guys talk him into letting them pull an attack on a bus carrying the bosses of half the families in the country. At least Delfina had backed away from that one.
Buccio said, “Vanelli’s car just pulled up in the lot outside.”
“All right,” said Delfina. “Get the rest of your guys in here now.”
Buccio gave Delfina a puzzled glance, then turned on his heel and strode quickly into the bottling area.
Delfina twisted in his chair to look up at Mike Cirro, then held out his hand. Cirro reached into his sport coat, produced a Smith & Wesson .45 semi-automatic pistol, and placed it in Delfina’s palm. Delfina examined it, pulled the slide to cycle a round into the chamber, then slipped it into the back of his belt and adjusted his coat to cover it, and leaned back in the chair.
A few hours ago, Delfina had let Buccio pull one of his commando-raid travesties outside Santa Fe. Buccio had flown a dozen men into Albuquerque, held a rendezvous at the airport, then deployed his troops. He had explained to Delfina how he’d sent snipers in camouflage into the desert to cover the house and the road, then pulled a full-scale assault to kick in all the doors at once and rush in. As Delfina thought about it, he was positive that at some point in the operation, Buccio must have said, “Synchronize your watches.”
But Buccio had stormed an empty house. Rita Shelford had been gone. The woman who had been helping her hide had been gone. They had found computers, all set up in the dining room, and lots of different kinds of paper and envelopes. Buccio had had the sense to take the computers. As Delfina thought about it, he could almost forgive Buccio for the childish theatrics. Having the computers was going to be better than having the girl.
Delfina was glad he had listened to Buccio’s whole story without interrupting him or shouting, because he had heard about Buccio’s mistake. He watched the rest of Buccio’s crew coming in from the door to the plant and the outer doors. They were Buccio’s hand-picked proteges, all of them. They all had his close-cropped, overexercised look with thick necks and empty faces.
Delfina heard the distant door to the parking lot open and turned to watch the last four men come in. He recognized Vanelli and Giglia. They were laughing and talking with the other two men, who looked a little more subdued. When they came into the big room and saw Delfina, Vanelli stepped forward and said respectfully, “Frank. I brought some friends of ours to meet you. This is Paul Lomarco.” He indicated a tall, dark young man in a pair of jeans and a windbreaker. “This is Pete DiBiaggio.” That one was wearing a sweatshirt above his jeans that said, NEW MEXICO, LAND OF ENCHANTMENT.
Both men smiled and nodded timidly at Delfina.
Delfina smiled too, stood up, and shook their hands. “Glad to meet you.” He turned to Buccio. “Go get these guys a beer.” Buccio prepared to pass the order to one of his crew, but Delfina’s stare remained on him until he went toward the office himself. Delfina turned to the two men. “You guys are Cleveland boys, eh? Part of Al
