again?”
The man looked unhappy, but nodded slightly.
“All right then,” Raymond said. “Get in the truck.”
There was another rustle and murmur in the crowd. The mustached man didn’t move.
With his free hand, Raymond reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a roll of bills. “You need work, now that Daddy’s gone. I need somebody who can eyeball the sumbitch and tell me if he’s the right one. You’ll be gone a couple days, then you’ll be right back here.”
The man’s eyes went back and forth from the roll of bills to the gun in Raymond’s other hand that remained pointed at him. “Always it is the same,” he murmured. “Plomo o Plata.”
“What?” Raymond said.
The man looked up at him. “Silver or lead,” he translated. “Always the same choice.”
Raymond nodded. “That sounds about right.”
The man sighed. “The money first,” he said.
Raymond thought for a second. “Half now, half when you show me.”
The man hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders. “All right. But I need to leave it here.”
Raymond smiled and tossed him the roll of bills. The man turned and motioned a slim young man with a ponytail out of the crowd. The two conferred for a moment in Spanish, then the mustached man handed the bills to the man with the ponytail, turned and walked to the passenger side of the truck without looking back. John Lee opened the door and slid to the middle of the seat as the man got in. Raymond started the truck and began backing out. The crowd of men watched him go.
They drove in silence for a few minutes before John Lee spoke up. “I’m John Lee,” he told the man. “This here’s my brother Raymond. You here from Mexico long?”
The mustached man smiled without humor. “Oscar Sanchez,” he said. “And I am from Colombia.”
“Well ain’t that a coincidence.” Raymond’s smile was equally humorless. “Some of my best friends is from Colombia.”
Sanchez sighed and leaned back in the seat. He closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.
“How much we get?” DeWayne said. He was standing by the window of the tiny motel room, occasionally using the barrel of his pistol to nudge the curtain aside enough to peer out into the parking lot. Except for their truck, the lot was empty.
“Damn it,” Leonard replied, “Y’made me lose count.” He glared at the piles of cash on the burn-scarred table. “And quit peekin’ out the damn window every ten seconds.”
DeWayne sighed. “Well, you was almost done,” he said. “Where’d you lose count at?”
Leonard picked up the joint that lay smoldering in the ashtray and took a long drag. His dark, lined face screwed up in an exaggerated mask of concentration. “‘Bout twenty-seven hundred.” He said, his word coming out high-pitched and strangled sounding as he held in the smoke. “Figger about three thousand for the whole shootin’ match.” He chuckled slightly at his own inadvertent pun and let the smoke out in a long stream.
DeWayne closed his eyes and leaned his head against the post of the window. “Three thousand,” he repeated. “We killed that old man for three thousand bucks.”
“Aww, man,” Leonard said. “We didn’t mean to do it. Ain’t nothin’ but a thing, cuz.” He put the joint to his lips, took another long pull, held it. “Here,” he croaked as he held the joint out.
“I don’t….” DeWayne began. Then he shrugged. “Fuck it,” he said. He sat down in one of the mismatched chairs. “We gotta figger out what we’re gonna do now,” he said. He took a drag on the joint and coughed.
“Well, “Leonard said thoughtfully. “I could use a beer. And maybe some pussy.”
“God damn it, Leonard--” DeWayne began.
“Easy, cuz,” Leonard said. He gave his cousin a lopsided grin and took the joint from him. “Look, we’ve had a coupla hard days, right? We’re both stressin’. We got the money, sure it’s not as much as we thought it was gonna be, but it’s more than we had. So let’s enjoy it, man. Life’s too damn short.”
“Don’t it bother you we just killed somebody, Leonard?” DeWayne said.
The joint was almost gone. Leonard put the roach out in the cracked ashtray. “Sure it bothers me,” he said. “But that old fucker brought in on hisself. He’d a done what we told him, he wouldn’t be dead. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change what we did. All you can change is how you look at it.”
DeWayne digested this for a moment as Leonard stood up. Leonard put his hands at the small of his back and arched, wincing slightly at the snapping and popping sounds. “Gettin’ too old for this shit,” he grunted. He scooped a handful of bills off the counter and went to the door. “There’s a Short Stop across the street,” he said. “I’m gonna go get us some beers. Then we’re gonna get in the truck, drive on up to Fayetteville, and get you laid.” The lopsided grin was back. “You’re gonna be amazed at how it changes the way you look at things.” He walked out.
DeWayne sat for a minute, the thoughts coming slowly to him. He wasn’t used to reefer, and the thoughts seemed to struggle upwards in his brain.
Fayetteville, he thought. Who do I know in Fayetteville? Then it came to him. Crystal, he thought.
After a few minutes, Leonard came back in, carrying a paper bag under one arm. He had a Budweiser tall-boy in the other hand.
“Leonard,” DeWayne said. “Crystal still living in Fayetteville?”
“Yeah,” Leonard said. “Shakin’ her ass in some titty bar on Bragg Boulevard, last time I heard.” He took a long pull on the beer. “Momma and Daddy don’t even mention her name anymore.”
“She might let us hide out at her place for a while. I been there once.”
Leonard pulled a beer out of the bag, popped the top and handed it to his cousin. “Not a bad idea,” he said after a moment.. “Bet she’d introduce us to some of her friends, too.” He grinned like a satyr. “Shit, we play our cards right, we might not even have to pay for pussy. Now, you’re thinkin’ right, old son.”
Keller walked out into the motel parking lot, blinking against the sun. The previous night’s thunderstorms had blown away, leaving the world exposed to the hard glare of the sun. The heavy, waterlogged air soaked up the heat until walking across the parking lot was like swimming through soup.
As he approached his car, he saw a white police cruiser parked crossways behind him. There was a big cop leaning against the car, his arms crossed over his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to accentuate his massive forearms. His partner was standing beside Keller’s Crown Victoria, peering through the window with one hand shading her eyes. She was a tall woman, with the lean build of an athlete. Both cops’
