Potshot (17 page)

‘I hate computers,’ he said.

‘Any decent person would,’ I said. ‘Did you locate Mary Lou Buckman?’

‘Yes. She was employed with us from 1986 until 1991.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘Resource development.’

‘Which means?’

‘She was a geologist. She looked for new sources of water.’

Hawk and I were looking at the guns laid out in the dining room, where Vinnie had affectionately arranged them. There were two AR-15s, three pump-action shotguns, a Winchester .45 carbine, a Heckler & Koch with a 20-round magazine, a Jaeger Hunter with a scope, a .44 Rugar bush gun, and a BAR.

‘Who owns the BAR?’ I said.

‘Bobby Horse,’ Vinnie said.

‘Bonnie and Clyde use those,’ Hawk said.

‘Don’t know nothing about Bonnie and Whosis,’ Vinnie said.

There were extra handguns on the side board: a Walther P38, two Brownings, a Glock 17, and three Smith & Wesson .357 revolvers. The ammunition for each weapon was stacked beside it. Most of the guns were stainless steel and they gleamed happily in their orderly arrangement. The ammunition boxes were mostly green, or red, depending on who made them. The room looked sort of festive.

‘Who brought lever action?’ Vinnie said.

‘Me,’ I said. ‘A sentimental favorite.’

Vinnie shook his head and went on wiping.

On the floor in front of a side window two pieces of duct tape formed a large X.

‘Firing position?’ I said.

‘Yeah,’ Vinnie said. ‘Got five positions marked. Give us a fields of fire cover the whole house. Got some other positions located up in the hills, case we want to bail out of here, cover any approach.’

I nodded.

‘How come you got that Winchester?’ Vinnie said.

‘Sentimental,’ I said. ‘I had it in Laramie. My uncle bought it for me.’

‘You only got five shots in the sucker, and you got to jack each one up before you shoot.’

‘I’m not big for volume,’ I said. ‘I’m a careful shooter.’

‘Well I hope you ain’t feeding shells into that thing while one of the Dell monsters comes at you with a Tec-nine.’

‘Me too,’ I said.

‘What are you packing for a handgun?’ Vinnie said.

I pulled my T-shirt up to show him the gun on my belt.

‘Same thing,’ Vinnie said. ‘Two-inch barrel, five rounds in the cylinder.’

‘Sometimes I carry that Browning,’ I said.

‘You should,’ Vinnie said. ‘You can’t hit a whale in the ass with that little Smith & Wesson, unless you’re right up on him.’

‘I plan to be right up,’ I said.

Vinnie shrugged. I was beginning to feel defensive.

‘I like it,’ I said. ‘It’ll knock you down if you’re close. It’s light to carry, easy to conceal, and it works good. I can carry it in an ankle holster if I need to.’

Vinnie nodded again. With a small camel-hair brush, he was dusting the rear sight of the BAR.

‘Besides,’ I said, ‘it’s cute.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Vinnie said. ‘And it matches your tie. Swell.’

Vinnie’s full attention went back to tending the guns. He was like a bitch grooming a puppy.

‘Bobby Horse waiting on us,’ Hawk said, ‘to go look at the Dell.’

‘Chollo’s not going?’

‘Chollo say he already been there.’

‘Doesn’t want to make the climb again,’ I said.

Hawk nodded. We were quiet for a time watching Vinnie fuss over the weapons.

‘There’s a lot going on here that we don’t know about,’ I said.

‘We used to that,’ Hawk said.

‘And the damn woman is at the center of it.’

‘We sort of used to that too, ain’t we?’

‘Yeah but she’s also our employer.’

‘She your employer, Bobo. You’re my employer.’

‘You’re such a stickler,’ I said.

‘Chain of command, boss.’

Vinnie had the cylinder open on one of the .357s and was studying it, using his thumbnail to reflect light into the barrel. Then he nodded to himself and gently closed the cylinder.

‘Vinnie should have been a father,’ Hawk said.

We watched Vinnie for a minute.

‘Something bothering me,’ Hawk said.

‘Only something?’

‘Mary Lou and her hubby come out here on their summers off and run this little horseback gig,’ Hawk said.

‘Until he got fired from coaching,’ I said. ‘Then they moved out here full-time.’

‘Who the fuck gonna come out here for summer vacation?’

I nodded.

‘That is bothersome,’ I said. ‘Maybe it was because that’s the only time they had off.’

‘Maybe,’ Hawk said.

‘Or not,’ I said. ‘And why here?’

‘Maybe you and me need to figure out what’s up out here, ’fore we charge up to the Dell and shoot everybody’s ass?’

‘What’s the most important thing in the desert?’ I said.

‘Iron Horse Champagne,’ Hawk said.

‘Next to that,’ I said.

‘Water.’

‘Our client was a geologist whose job it was to find new water sources.’

‘And she was boffing the chief of police.’

‘Yep.’

‘And Ratliff the producer.’

‘Yep.’

‘And she had enough money to hire you to find out who clipped her hubby.’

‘And they all come from L.A.,’ I said.

‘Where some bad man tries to chase you off the case.’

‘And back in Potshot, I prevail over a couple of stiffs from the Dell, and the town fathers treat me like Charlemagne.’

Vinnie had the magazine out of the BAR and was feeding shells into it.

‘Costing a lot of money,’ Hawk said. ‘Support you and me and five tough guys.’

‘They could get the Sheriff’s Department to clean out the Dell for zip,’ I said.

‘’Cept they afraid to testify.’

‘So why aren’t they afraid to hire us? You think the Dell won’t know?’

‘So maybe they ain’t so scared,’ Hawk said.

‘Or maybe they are,’ I said. ‘But there’s something at stake that’s worth the risk.’

‘Which they couldn’t get if the cops came in,’ Hawk said.

Vinnie put the full clip back in the BAR, worked the action once, caught the ejected shell in midair, took the magazine out, and reloaded the shell.

‘Works good,’ he said.

Bobby Horse took Hawk and me slowly up the back slope of the hill behind the Dell. It was steep and littered with shale and spiky with dry desert growth. We took two and a half hours to get to the top and another half-hour to reach the rim where the hill dropped off perpendicularly and formed the back wall of the Dell.

Flat on our stomachs, screened by the scrub growth that hung onto the canyon, we could see the Quonset huts of The Preacher’s crew straight below us, and beyond, where the canyon dropped off again as it stepped down toward the desert, the town clustered on the otherwise empty flat land. To our left was the ravine that led into the canyon, through which I came to visit The Preacher. It was the only way in, which made the place secure. It was also the only way out.

‘Hard to go in there,’ Hawk said.

I said, ‘Un-huh.’

‘Hard to get out of there.’

‘Un-huh.’

The heavy dry heat was battering. Sweat dried at once.

‘Dumb,’ Hawk said. ‘All they saw was how hard it was to get in.’

‘They didn’t choose the site,’ I said. ‘It was just sort of there, where the mine was, and I don’t think they ever thought they’d have to get out.’

‘Probably didn’t think there’d be anyone willing to make the fucking climb,’ Hawk said to me. ‘You be the only one I can think of.’

Bobby Horse passed around a big canteen and we all drank some water. The water was hot.

‘It’s not boiling,’ I said, ‘so the temperature must be less than 212.’

‘What temperature you suppose ammunition start exploding?’ Hawk said.

We were all silent, staring down at the Dell.

‘Put some people up here,’ Bobby Horse said, ‘and some people at the ravine down there and we can shoot them to pieces.’

I was going to say something about fish in a barrel, but the imagery didn’t seem quite right for the parched furnace below us.

‘We’ll keep it in mind,’ I said.

‘Why not just do it?’ Bobby Horse said.

‘He too sweet-natured,’ Hawk said to Bobby Horse.

‘Besides,’ I said, ‘means we’d have to climb down, get people together, and climb back up here with rifles.’

‘I be one of the folks at the ravine,’ Hawk said.

‘If it comes to that we’ll draw straws,’ I said. ‘Except me. As you pointed out, I’m your employer.’

‘I believe you discriminating racially,’ Hawk said, ‘’gainst me and my Native American sidekick.’

‘You were the one said we needed to know more before we started shooting,’ I said.

‘I didn’t mean it,’ Hawk said.

Bobby Horse paid no attention to us, as he stared down at the Dell.

‘Looks like a generator shack over there,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You can see the hookups to the other buildings.’

‘Where’s the fuel?’ Hawk said.

‘Barrels,’ Bobby Horse said. ‘Other side of the building. They set one on a high stand and run a hose into the generator. Works on gravity.’

‘You got a look at the other side?’ Hawk said.

‘Me and Chollo,’ Bobby Horse said. ‘We went over to that little jut at the end of the canyon.’

‘No wonder Chollo didn’t want to come again,’ I said.

‘Mexicans tire easy,’ Bobby Horse said.

We looked at the Dell some more. There was a large stake body truck parked near the generator shack. It was probably used to haul the fuel oil.

‘Might be good to take that generator out,’ Bobby Horse said. ‘No lights, no television, no a/c.’

‘Water be pumped up from a well,’ Hawk said. ‘So no running water.’

‘How we going to take it out?’

‘I go down,’ Bobby Horse said.

‘You could get down there?’

‘Sure.’

‘And back?’

‘Sure.’

‘We’ll keep it in mind,’ I said.

We lay for a while baking at the top of the cliff looking at the Dell.

‘When I went in to talk to The Preacher, when I was here before, nobody stopped me. I didn’t see any sentries.’

Bobby Horse pointed toward the ravine. Hawk and I looked. I saw nothing.

‘Keep looking,’ Bobby Horse said. ‘Near the top of the ravine. A cluster of scrub? Just below it a ledge? Under the ledge.’

I found the scrub and the ledge and kept looking. Then I saw a glint of light reflecting from under the ledge.

‘Gun barrel,’ Bobby Horse said, ‘belt buckle, sunglasses, maybe a wristwatch.’

‘How many you think?’ I said.

‘Two,’ Bobby Horse said.

There was no uncertainty in his voice.

‘So they let me in because I was alone and not carrying any visible weapons,’ I said.

‘Probably thought you was a tourist got lost,’ Bobby Horse said.

‘Or a dashing soldier of fortune,’ I said. ‘And they hoped to recruit me.’

‘We put somebody at the ravine,’ Hawk said, ‘we need to eliminate them first.’

‘I can do that,’ Bobby Horse said.

‘Both of them?’ I said.

‘Sure.’

‘You Native Americans are scary,’ Hawk said.

‘Heap scary,’ Bobby Horse said.

‘Talk funny, too,’ I said.

We stayed on our bellies and stared down through the shimmering that rose from the canyon floor, until most of our water was gone, and we had internalized the layout of the Dell. Then we edged away from the rim, stood and walked the half-hour walk back to the down slope of the hill behind the Dell.

‘We got the people to do this,’ Hawk said as we started the long scramble back down. ‘You put the shooters up here, Vinnie, Chollo, maybe the little hard case from Vegas. Me and you do the close work in the ravine, with Tedy Sapp and Bobby Horse.’

‘If we need to,’ I said.

‘How you going to know if we need to?’

‘When I figure out what’s happening here. I’m not going to slaughter a bunch of people and then find out we didn’t have to.’

Hawk shook his head slowly.

‘A sweet nature,’ he said. ‘A sweet fucking nature.’

When we got back to the house there was a silver Lexus parked in front and Chollo was sitting on the front porch with Morris Tannenbaum’s guy with the horn-rimmed glasses, who looked like an accountant but wasn’t.

‘You remember Ronnie,’ Chollo said.

‘With pleasure,’ I said.

Bobby Horse paid no attention to Ronnie. He went on past him and into the house. Hawk didn’t say anything but he looked steadily at Ronnie. Ronnie looked at Hawk for a time and then turned his attention to me. Hawk leaned against the porch railing, still looking at Ronnie.

‘Hot,’ Ronnie said.

He was wearing a white linen suit with a flowered sport shirt open at the neck. His shoes were woven leather. He looked like an accountant on vacation.

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but it’s a dry heat.’

Ronnie nodded as if the heat were a real topic. I waited.

‘Morris wanted me to talk with you,’ Ronnie said.

‘You always do what Morris wants?’ I said.

‘Yeah.’

I waited some more. Ronnie seemed in no hurry. Hawk was motionless against the railing. Chollo might have been asleep in his chair.

‘Morris wanted me to tell you things have changed a little,’ Ronnie said.

‘Un-huh.’

‘Morris says he got no further interests out here.’

‘Which means?’

‘Morris says if you want to take out the Dell, he’ll give you a walk on that.’

‘Last I knew he was going to have somebody shoot me if I didn’t leave things alone out here.’

‘Probably me,’ Ronnie said. ‘That ain’t the case anymore.’

‘Well isn’t that nice,’ I said. ‘How about Mary Lou Buckman?’

‘Morris got no interest in her.’

‘But he used to,’ I said.

Ronnie spread his hands, palms up, and shrugged.

‘What happened?’ I said.

Ronnie shook his head.

‘Morris didn’t have anybody shoot Steve Buckman did he?’

‘Nope.’

‘You sure?’

‘I do Morris’s shooting,’ Ronnie said. ‘I didn’t do Buckman.’

‘You know who did?’

‘Maybe she did,’ Ronnie said.

‘Why do you think so?’

‘Wives shoot husbands a lot,’ Ronnie said.

‘What’s Morris’s connection to her?’