“He says it’s too hot. Ah! I saw the truck for a moment!”
“Tell that goddamn animal…”
“He won’t listen. He says it’s too hot.”
Quinn started to sweat a new sweat, which was thin and rapid. He did not argue or curse now but ran back into the broken house, then came out again with a water skin. He ran with it, so that there was a gurgle sound from the skin. The skin was black and moist and made inside water movements under his arm so that it felt alive. On the pavement Quinn pulled the wooden plug out of the bag and let the water run out. He trained the stream all over the road and pressed pressure into the stream with his arm.
“You see him?” he called to the wall.
“No. It means now that he will come out of the dip when I see him the next time.”
Quinn licked sweat from the side of his mouth. The moist pavement was starting to steam.
“Get off the wall,” he said.
The skin was limp on his arm now and the water sputtered. Turk got off the wall.
“All right,” said Quinn and stepped back. “Tell him to put that animal down now. It isn’t hot any more.”
The Arab brought his camel over and made it stop in the middle of the road while Quinn ran into the broken house. He came back with the dirty burnoose on his arm, and with the wrench.
“He says you are very clever,” said Turk. “Very clever about the water.”
“Tell him to put that goddamn animal down. And you come over here and help me with this sheet.”
Turk showed Quinn how to wrap the burnoose and the Arab with the camel was hitting the animal’s front legs with a stick. This made a wood on wood sound and in a while, like a building collapsing, the camel folded down and sat in the road. It showed its teeth and made a groan like an agonized human.
There was nothing else to do now except wait. The Arab talked to the camel, or cursed the camel, Quinn stood inside his sheet, and Turk was gone, inside the house.
The truck, Quinn saw, was a Ford pick-up. Because there was a camel in the road, the truck stopped. The driver came very close, made the brakes and the tires scream, but he stopped. The talk, which came next, was all in Arabic and Quinn did not understand a word. But he knew what was supposed to go on and he could see how the screaming got more and more violent. The point was, get that camel off the road and, I can’t get the beast to get back on its feet. And then the driver, in an excess of violence, was supposed to jump out of his cab to give the camel a kick or to give the man with the camel a kick.
But the two men just kept screaming. Quinn stood by and sweated under the big burnoose. What else could go wrong now? The driver backs up, leaves the road, and bumps across the desert. Or he just keeps sitting there and screams for another hour. If that idiot with the camel would stop tugging that halter rope, would stop putting on such a convincing show-At that moment he did. Quinn was sure the man had worked himself into a genuine rage and only at that point did he think of the next thing. He dropped the halter rope, threw up his arms, screamed something which was probably very obscene, and then he too sat in the road, legs folded. It took another second before the driver decided to get out of the cab.
Quinn stood still by the truck and watched the door fly open. He stood still while the driver jumped out, turned toward the camel, and then Quinn hit him.
He let go of the burnoose flap with which he had covered his face, got his right arm free, and tapped the wrapped wrench on the back of the driver’s head.
It is hard to judge the right force of a blow like that, unless the purpose is murder. Quinn wanted the man out cold for perhaps half an hour. This was important, because the man should later drive his truck for the rest of the trip.
When Quinn caught the man he turned the head up and saw that the eyelids were fluttering.
From here on in, a number of things were supposed to happen like clockwork.
Quinn put the man down on the ground, slowly, leaned the man back and felt the tension. This was the natural tensing of trying to balance oneself while leaning back. Quinn hit the man again because he had not been entirely unconscious. He used his fist this time, a sharp uppercut, feeling much more certain about what he was doing now. When the man sagged in the right way Quinn was done.
Turk, by the house, was whistling.
The man with the camel got up, yelled at his beast, and tapped his stick under the animal’s chin.
Quinn dumped the driver on top of the canisters in back of the pickup, got into the cab, and maneuvered the car off the road and behind the ruined house. When he got there Turk was ready with the tools.
So far, nice and smooth. Quinn felt nervous and happy.
While Turk pushed the jack under the front axle Quinn started to undo the nuts on one wheel. By then the first camel came around the corner of the house, and then the other two, each led by a man. Quinn did not know any of them but they’re working out, he thought, maybe they’ll work out. He hardly looked at them, no time now for this, and told Turk what he wanted each of the others to do. Then he took the first wheel off. He let the air out of the tire while he took off the second wheel. He let the air out of that one too. Turk was coming back out of the house.
“Check the driver,” said Quinn.
Turk went to the back of the truck and said, “Do you want me to hit him again?”
“I said check him! I want to know if he’s still out.”
“He sleeps.”
“Make sure.”
“I did.”
Quinn did not ask how Turk had made sure. He only told him to put the driver into his cab and they should get busy with the cans on the truck. The three Arabs came out of the house, carrying the skins. One camel was lying down by itself, one stood, and one was grinding its teeth.
Then Quinn pounded the tires off the front wheels, and then he bolted the bare wheels back on the wheel- drums. After that he got the jack out and put it under the rear of the truck. There he did the same thing he had done to the front. He took the tubes and tires off the wheels and then put the bare wheels back in place. Make them think there’s a gentleman thief around. Puts the wheels back on, after the deed.
Turk and the three others were pouring alcohol into empty skins and water into empty canisters. Quinn smoked a cigarette, standing back a little. It smells like a hospital, he thought, or a brewery. I can’t decide which.
The men put the canisters full of water back on the pickup and they tied the skins full of alcohol to the packsaddles of the three camels. They were all scratching themselves and they were grinning while they stood around because none of them knew what this was all about. Quinn checked the driver again and then walked to the Arabs.
“Tell them what I say, Turk.”
He gave all of them a cigarette and they all smoked. Turk smoked and so did two of the others. The third split the paper open and ate the tobacco.
“Tell them they can sell the tires as soon as they wish. And I don’t care to whom they sell them or where.”
“The best place…”
“Shut up and listen. Make it clear that it will go badly with them, if Remal finds out who stole his tires. Tell them.”
Turk told them and they all talked at once. Then they listened again.
“Tell them that I will do nothing to them, if the tires get traced, because Remal will take care of them good and proper if they aren’t careful.”
“That will be difficult,” said Turk, “to sell the tires and Remal knows nothing about it.”
“It can be done.”
“But how?”
Quinn picked up sand from the ground and rubbed it in his hands. It took some of the grime off and then he wiped his hands on the dirty burnoose.
“I want them to figure that out by themselves. Because I can’t use them if they can’t sell stuff without getting traced. Tell them.”
Turk told them and there was much discussion while Quinn got into the truck. He leaned out and told them to
