The man had walked right by a display of beer without even looking. And he hadn't stolen any diapers. You'd think if he was gonna take baby food he'd need something to deal with the results. Weird.
'What kind did he take?'
'A case of chicken, a case of beef, and a case of liver,' the manager answered, rubbing his face.
'Liver? I didn't know they even made liver for babies.' Poor kids. Whoever this guy was, he had a screwed-up value system. Then light dawned. 'Hey!' Purdee said. 'Play the tape again from the beginning!'
Obligingly, the manager rewound the tape and started it running. The door burst open, the man entered, started down the aisle toward the camera.
'Can you freeze it there?' the sergeant asked urgently.
'Sure,' the manager said.
The burglar's face was turned toward the camera, sunglasses reflecting an image of the aisles before him.
This was him, Purdee was certain, the guy on TV, the man who'd shot up a
police station in Los Angeles and killed, like, sixteen, seventeen cops. Then he'd gone on to blow up a computer company and shoot fifty or more police. And he was here, right in this sleepy little Montana town! Or, at least, he had been as of two-thirty this morning.
'Stealing baby food…' Purdee murmured. He shook his head. He'd find out what it meant when they caught the bastard. The sergeant pulled out his radio and called it in.
Alissa anxiously awaited the arrival of the representative of Turbine Transport with the Blackhawk. It was taking longer than she'd expected, and as the day grew later she became more concerned.
Just after noon she decided it would be wise to employ the damaged Terminator on its way down from Montana. It could easily be diverted to New Mexico, thus ensuring that at least one of them could be on hand when von Rossbach, and possibly John Connor himself, was taken into custody.
*How soon can you be there?* she asked.
The Terminator checked its position via satellite and cross-checked with a commercial mapping program. It quickly estimated that it would be at the Big Bee Diner by 5:30 P.M., if it kept to the speed limit.
Alissa was not pleased. She'd hoped to have someone there in the early afternoon. But it wasn't advisable to speed and risk attracting police attention.
*Very well,* she sent. *Keep a low profile, do not terminate anyone without my
express permission. But at all costs, be there.*
She resumed her pacing across the flat stretch of scrubland outside the mine entrance. A few buildings still stood, the remains of the ore dump, mine office, and workshops; her Terminators had been replacing windows and doors and changing long-dead lightbulbs so that the place would look inhabited but not suspiciously so. They had their own diesel generator for power, and there was abundant water from a deep well. A perfect location, all in all.
If only the helicopter would arrive…
Alissa's augmented ears picked up a sound, and her small chubby six-year-old face turned with the precision of a tracking radar.
'Luis! God dammit, get back behind those rocks, for crissakes!' Waylon pointed at a tumble of rocks beside and slightly above the gully where he liked to meet his customers. He checked his watch. 'He'll be here any second.'
Luis calmly continued his descent from his hiding place, carefully holding the rifle to the side. 'Waylon,' he said wearily, 'I've got cactus spines in my ass and things are rattling their tails at me up here.' He stopped and looked at his sometime employer, then he waved a hand. 'He's not coming, amigo.'
'I said seven,' Bridges said. 'It's only seven-fifteen.'
'I think you said seven-thirty,' Luke interrupted.
Waylon glanced at his partner distractedly and went on, 'It's only quarter past.
He'll be here!' He pointed desperately up the slope. 'Get back in place, okay?'
'I been here for an hour, man,' Luis pointed out. 'I don't like it out here. There's scorpions and centipedes and snakes, and I'm afraid I'm gonna put my hand down on a Gila monster.'
'Gila monsters are extinct in New Mexico, Luis,' Waylon said with exaggerated patience. 'And you could make up to fifty grand for putting up with Mother Nature for a couple of hours. Now get back behind those rocks!'
Luis looked at him, working a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.
'You told me fifty grand if—and you said
Waylon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 'O-kay,' he said, the strain of holding his temper obvious in his voice. 'If he doesn't come we'll take you out to that strip club you like, steak and drinks, anything you want. How's that?'
Luis's eyes widened. '
Waylon raised a finger. 'But only if you get your ass back up behind those rocks. Because he
Luis sighed, dropping his head. 'Okay,' he said, trudging back up the slope. 'For booze and babes and some good red meat I'll stay until dark.'
'For fifty grand!' Waylon shouted. 'That's what you're staying for, then you can buy your own damn meat.'
Luke Hardy leaned close to his partner and hissed, 'Fifty Gs?'
Waylon spread his hands. 'He wouldn't do it for less and I couldn't get in touch with anybody else.' He shrugged, looking sullen. 'You saw that guy, we're gonna need backup. Luis might be a pain in the ass, but he's solid.'
Luke nodded reluctant agreement, checked his watch, and muttered, 'Fuck.'
The Terminator pulled up at the diner at six-thirty, having been delayed by an accident fifty miles back. If not for the police presence, it would have gone around the mess of ruined metal and the ambulances on the verge; the truck had four-wheel drive. Regrettably caution had been necessary.
It checked the parking lot and found it empty but for two cars. An acceptable risk, it decided.
When it came inside, a plump, dark-haired woman was leaning on the counter reading a magazine. She looked up, half smiling, and said a friendly, 'Hey.' She straightened, looking him over, and seemed to recognize him.
'If you're looking for Waylon or Luke,' she said, 'they're probably already at the gully. Couldn't you find it?'
'I couldn't find it,' it agreed, not moving from the doorway. It shrugged, a gesture meant to be reassuring.
The woman chuckled. 'Let me draw you a map, honey.' She picked up a pad of paper and, tearing off a piece, began scribbling. 'Just before you turn off,' she said, 'there's a highway sign and a whole bunch of yucca plants all together.'
Maria drew a picture of a yucca plant, just in case the stranger didn't know what one looked like. He had a slight foreign accent, so that seemed likely. Finishing, she held it out to him. 'There ya go,' she said aloud.
He came forward to take it and with him came a wave of stench, like rotting meat, making her gag. Maria fell back, her hand over her mouth. She hadn't been wearing her glasses as she read, so she got her first good look at the man's face at his approach.
His skin was waxy looking and it was shredding in places to show the raw flesh beneath. Here and there was
