if the driver wanted to get a good look at it, then continued up the road and out of sight.
“Whoever that was took a good look at the house,” Vittorio said into the radio. “I couldn’t see who was driving; the car’s roof was in the way.”
“That’s not the sort of car a hit man would drive,” Cupie said. “He’d be in a rental if he was from out of town.”
“Agreed,” Vittorio said. He sat for a few minutes, thinking that it was good to have Cupie around. He spent too many of his days alone, and it was nice to have somebody to bitch at.
He jerked back to reality as the station wagon reappeared, headed down the hill. Vittorio still couldn’t see the driver. He picked up the radio. “The Mercedes is headed back down the hill. See if you can get a look at the driver.”
“Here it comes,” Cupie said. “Naw, the setting sun is reflecting in the windshield; can’t see past that. He’s gone. Did he check out the house again?”
“He didn’t seem to slow down, but he was driving slowly,” Vittorio replied.
“Hey, here comes Eagle,” Cupie said.
“I’ve got him,” Vittorio replied as Eagle’s car appeared down the road. The black Mercedes pulled into the driveway, and Eagle got out, looked around, then went into the house. He didn’t seem to use the garage much. “Okay,” Vittorio said into the radio, “he’s in the house. I’ll pick you up shortly.”
He got the car and drove down to where Cupie waited.
“Let’s stop at the Tesuque Market and get a drink and some dinner,” Cupie said.
“Good idea,” Vittorio replied. The Tesuque Market was a grocery, restaurant and bar that did a good business from the local residents and some tourists, too. “Look,” Vittorio said, pointing at the cars parked outside. The Mercedes station wagon was among them.
Vittorio found a parking place, and they found a table on the front porch and ordered a drink. As they were looking at the menu a man walked past their table, a newspaper under his arm and a bag of food in his other hand. He got into the station wagon, backed out and drove away.
“You know who that is?” Vittorio asked.
“Never saw him before,” Cupie replied, sipping his drink.
“That’s the guy who’s staying in Barbara’s house.”
“You think he’s driving her car?”
“That’s my guess,” Vittorio replied. “If she went to San Francisco or L.A. she wouldn’t drive, would she? She’d fly.”
“Yep,” Cupie replied. “We need that guy’s name.”
“The car won’t be registered to him. How will we get that?”
Cupie thought about it. “We could hit him over the head and take a look at his wallet.”
“There’s gotta be a lazier way,” Vittorio said. He got up, walked into the market and over to the checkout counter, where a young girl was sitting at the register, looking bored. “Excuse me,” Vittorio said to her. “That guy who just walked out: Do you know his name? He looked familiar.”
“The tall guy?” she asked.
“Yeah, with the western shirt.”
She looked down at an electronic credit card reader and pushed a couple of buttons. “Barton Cross, it says here,” she said.
“Nah, he’s not who I thought he was. Thanks.” Vittorio returned to the table. “His name is Barton Cross,” he said to Cupie.
“Mean anything to you?”
“He said he worked at a movie studio and he was doing some work here. That would probably be on James Long’s movie, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, probably. I think that’s the only production in town at the moment.”
“What’s that studio in L.A. that Long works out of?”
“Centurion,” Cupie replied.
Vittorio got out his cell phone and dialed information, and they connected him.
“Centurion Studios,” an operator said.
“Mr. Barton Cross, please.”
“Just a moment.” There was a click followed by ringing.
“Long Productions,” a man’s voice said.
“May I speak with Barton Cross,” Vittorio asked.
“Bart is on vacation,” the man replied. “Can I take a message?”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“End of the month, I think.”
“I’ll call back then.” Vittorio hung up. “Bart Cross is on vacation for a couple of weeks.”
“Not working in Santa Fe?”
“Nope. On vacation.”
“I like him for a hit man,” Cupie said.
“So do I,” Vittorio replied.
31
Barbara dialed the throwaway cell phone she had given Bart Cross and got no answer. “Damn him!” she said aloud. “I told him to keep that phone handy!”
Her own throwaway suddenly rang. “Yes?”
“It’s me,” he said. “I was in the shower and didn’t get there in time.”
“All right,” she said. “Are you making progress?”
“I had a good look at the property today,” he replied. “I know you want me to use a knife, but I think the better plan is to use a rifle from up the road. There’s a good view of the front of the house, and I can get a clean shot when he leaves for work.”
“I want you to use the knife,” she said. “I want him to have time to think about why he’s dying before he does. That won’t work with a rifle; you’ll just put his lights out. I want her to find him bleeding, too, before you do her. You can shoot her if you want to, after she’s seen him.”
“You’re one angry lady,” Bart said.
“Yes, and you don’t want me angry at you. Are you doing the things I told you?”
“Yeah, I’m using only this phone, not my own.”
“What about credit cards?”
There was a brief silence. “Well…”
“You used your own credit card?”
“Just once, at the Tesuque Market.”
“Don’t you know that can let the police place you in Santa Fe?”
“It won’t happen again, and there’ll be no reason for them to look at me.”
“I want you to take the station wagon back to Albuquerque tomorrow, put it in the same spot in the parking lot, then steal a car.”
“That’s a bad idea,” Bart said. “I’d have to use a credit card. They won’t let you pay cash up front.”
“Don’t you have any false ID?”
“I have one, but it’s not a driver’s license.”
“Then after you leave the wagon in the parking lot, buy a used car and abandon it in the parking lot when you’re done. It’ll be there for weeks, maybe months, before anyone notices it.”
“You paying for a new car?”
“No, that’s part of your expenses. You wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t so stupidly used your credit card. I’m just trying to keep you from getting arrested.”
“All right, I’ll do it your way,” he said.
