They drove slowly up the road toward the bridge. Moss leaned forward over the seat. I want you to park under the bridge, he said.
All right.
I'm goin to unscrew the bulb out of this domelight.
They watch this road round the clock, the driver said.
I know that.
The driver pulled off of the road and shut off the engine and the lights and looked at Moss in the mirror. Moss took the bulb from the light and laid it in the plastic lens and handed it across the seat to the driver and opened the door. I should be back in just a few minutes, he said.
The cane was dusty, the stalks close grown. He pushed his way through carefully, holding the light at his knees with his hand partly across the lens.
The case was sitting in the brake rightside up and intact as if someone had simply set it there. He switched off the light and picked it up and made his way back in the dark, taking his sight by the span of the bridge overhead. When he got to the cab he opened the door and set the case in the seat and got in carefully and shut the door. He handed the flashlight to the driver and leaned back in the seat. Let's go, he said.
What's in there, the driver said.
Money.
Money?
Money.
The driver started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
Turn the lights on, Moss said.
He turned the lights on.
How much money?
A lot of money. What will you take to drive me to San Antonio.
The driver thought about it. You mean on top of the five hundred.
Yes.
How about a grand all in.
Everthing.
Yes.
You got it.
The driver nodded. Then how about the other half of these five caesars I already got.
Moss took the bills from his pocket and handed them across the back of the seat.
What if the Migra stop us.
They wont stop us, Moss said.
How do you know?
There's too much shit still down the road that I got to deal with. It aint goin to end here.
I hope you're right.
Trust me, Moss said.
I hate hearin them words, the driver said. I always did.
Have you ever said them?
Yeah. I've said em. That's how come I know what they're worth.
He spent the night in a Rodeway Inn on highway 90 just west of town and in the morning he went down and got a paper and climbed laboriously back to his room. He couldnt buy a gun from a dealer because he had no identification but he could buy one out of the paper and he did. A Tec-9 with two extra magazines and a box and a half of shells. The man delivered the gun to his door and he paid him in cash. He turned the piece in his hand. It had a greenish parkerized finish. Semiautomatic. When was the last time you fired it? he said.
I aint never fired it.
Are you sure it fires?
Why would it not?
I dont know.
Well I dont either.
After he left Moss walked out onto the prairie behind the motel with one of the motel pillows under his arm and he wrapped the pillow about the muzzle of the gun and fired off three rounds and then stood there in the cold sunlight watching the feathers drift across the gray chaparral, thinking about his life, what was past and what was to come. Then he turned and walked slowly back to the motel leaving the burnt pillow on the ground.
He rested in the lobby and then climbed up to the room again. He bathed in the tub and looked at the exit hole in his lower back in the bathroom mirror. It looked pretty ugly. There were drains in both holes that he wanted to pull out but he didnt. He pulled loose the plaster on his arm and looked at the deep furrow the bullet had cut there and then taped the dressing back again. He dressed and put some more of the bills into the back pocket of his jeans and he fitted the pistol and the magazines into the case and closed it and called a cab and picked up the document case and went out and down the stairs.
He bought a 1978 Ford pickup with four wheel drive and a 460 engine from a lot on North Broadway and paid the man in cash and got the title notarized in the office and put the title in the glovebox and drove away. He drove back to the motel and checked out and left, the Tec-9 under the seat and the document case and his bag of clothes sitting in the floor on the passenger side of the truck.
At the onramp at Boerne there was a girl hitchhiking and Moss pulled over and blew the horn and watched her in the rearview mirror. Running, her blue nylon knapsack slung over one shoulder. She climbed in the truck and looked at him. Fifteen, sixteen. Red hair. How far are you goin? she said.
Can you drive?
Yeah. I can drive. It aint no stick shift is it?
No. Get out and come around.
She left her knapsack on the seat and got out of the truck and crossed in front of it. Moss pushed the knapsack into the floor and eased himself across and she got in and put the truck in drive and they pulled out onto the interstate.
How old are you?
Eighteen.
Bullshit. What are you doin out here? Dont you know it's dangerous to hitchhike?
Yeah. I know it.
He took off his hat and put it on the seat beside him and leaned back and closed his eyes. Dont go over the speed limit, he said. You get us stopped by the cops and you and me both will be in a shitpot full of trouble.
All right.
I'm serious. You go over the speed limit and I'll set your ass out by the side of the road.
All right.
He tried to sleep but he couldnt. He was in a lot of pain. After a while he sat up and got his hat off the seat and put it on and looked over at the speedometer.
Can I ask you somethin? she said.
You can ask.
Are you runnin from the law?
Moss eased himself in the seat and looked at her and looked out at the highway. What makes you ask that?
On account of what you said back yonder. About bein stopped by the police.
What if I was?
Then I think I ought to just get out up here.
You dont think that. You just want to know where you stand.
She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Moss studied the passing country. If you spent three days with me, he said, I could have you holdin up gas stations. Be no trick at all.
She gave him a funny little half smile. Is that what you do? she said. Hold up gas stations?
No. I dont have to. Are you hungry?
I'm all right.
