Stone Junction (46 page)

‘Plenty of room,’ Volta assured him. ‘Throw it in there with the rest and sit back and wait for something to connect. I’m assuming, naturally, that you’re having Alex Three run through our own sources.’

‘Yeah, got them on it pronto, but they haven’t turned diddley yet.’

‘Alex Three,’ Volta mused. ‘Try it under Alexandra, also – and Xan. Maybe try working on Al Ex-Three, or maybe X as “times,” a multiplier, or as addition. Al Triple? All three times? A.L.? American League? Three-time winner in the American League?’

‘I told Jimmy and J.J. to run any combos they could come up with. And those boys are whizzes on them computers.’

Volta lifted a hand. ‘I was just babbling out loud, not impugning their abilities. Actually, I was avoiding thinking about a tougher decision.’

‘Like whether to tell Daniel, right?’

‘No. He gets the information when we receive the Diamond. The tough decision is whether to tell Shamus.’

‘Not much to decide, is there? He’s gone loco, first of all, and besides he hasn’t been in touch.’

‘Not recently, but he might. And Alex Three had to get his information from close to the source, so Shamus is the best one to ask. Maybe he even knows who this Alex Three is. Let’s play it this way: Call Dolly and tell her that if Shamus checks in, she can tell him
only
that we’ve discovered the snitch, and how it went down in the alley with a trigger-happy agent. But don’t tell even
Dolly
we know who the agent was, much less the name. Only you and I have that name at the moment, and that’s enough.’

‘We can hope Daniel will make it three when he calls and decides to trade the Diamond for his mama’s killer, and a lead on the snitch.’

Volta said, without conviction, ‘Possibly.’ He smiled wryly at Jack and raised his glass of cognac: ‘To hope.’ He paused as he brought the glass to his lips and added, ‘And to faith.’

When Volta set down the empty glass, Jack said, ‘Aw, don’t worry. Things are just hanging fire right now. Pretty soon some pieces will come tumbling together, and you’ll know what to do because you – more than anyone I ever met –
know
what to do. I mean, don’t think you can shamelessly flatter me with this Star bullshit and get away unscathed.’

‘Scathe me,’ Volta said, ‘I need it.’ But he didn’t smile.

‘You don’t think he’s gonna trade that Diamond, do you? You really don’t.’

‘Jack, I’ve been sitting here four days
feeling
that Diamond take him. It was the one imponderable, how he’d react to the Diamond. Maybe I just didn’t ponder it deeply enough.’

‘Volt, would you quit whipping on yourself? I mean, how could you’ve considered that?’

‘I could have used some imagination,’ Volta said.

* * *

In a rich baritone and a horrible Irish accent, someone was singing ‘Dannnny Boy, Dannnny Boy, the pipes are calling––’

Daniel bolted awake. He looked around wildly: naked, daylight, the Diamond beside him on the bed. He lunged for the bowling bag and stuffed the Diamond inside, yelling at the singer, ‘What? Wait a minute, goddammit!’ He slid the bag under the bed, and pulled on his pants. It wasn’t until his first step toward the door that a sharp painful yank made him realize he’d caught half his pubic hair in the zipper. ‘Arrrhhh!’ he howled, clawing at his crotch for the zipper pull. At his howl, the singing stopped.

‘Daniel?’ Wally Moon called from the porch. ‘Hey! You all right in there?’

Daniel flung the door open, his face flushed. ‘Yes, Wally, I’m wonderful. Just got jerked from a sound sleep by some serenading Mongol-Apache and in my haste to get dressed I caught my pubic hair in my zipper, which caused the pained cry that elicited your concern. But other than that, top o’ the morning to ya.’

Wally winced. ‘Oooh, I’ve done that. Not only hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, but it scares you, too. Better than catching a fold of skin on your dick, though – you ever done that, zip up your dick?’

‘No, not yet, Wally.’ Daniel’s anger was dissipating rapidly, his confusion with it. He remembered Wally had borrowed his truck. He didn’t notice any sign of the keys in Wally’s hands.

As if to confirm the keys’ absence, Wally spread his arms, his open palms upraised in a mild plea for forbearance. ‘I
had
to wake you to give you the news.’

‘What news?’

‘Good news,’ Wally said merrily.

‘Do you have my truck?’

‘No,’ Wally smiled. ‘That’s the good news.’

‘For who?’

‘For you. See, we towed our truck in about sunup – it ate a valve – and after we had some breakfast, Annie went to Tucson for parts. We don’t have much money, but we have lots of relatives between us, and Annie’s cousin’s brother-in-law has a wrecking yard in Tucson. Anyway, about an hour ago, two guys in a grey Chevy sedan, last year’s model, came up the road. They were both large men with nice shines on their shoes. They said they were U.S. Treasury agents out looking for a man named Isaiah Kharome so they could give him a large tax settlement that he’d never collected. But to tell you the truth, they didn’t look like men happy to be returning money. They looked like men who had terrible childhoods.’

‘I see,’ Daniel said. ‘What did you tell them?’

‘I told them we hadn’t had a guest in over a month and that I didn’t recall seeing a seventy-two Chevy four-by with a camper, New Mexico license LXA 009. I wouldn’t have been able to tell them that with much conviction if your truck had been parked here.’

‘Thanks,’ Daniel said. ‘They weren’t Treasury agents, though, I can tell you that. The IRS is hunting me because I claim my writing is religious and therefore tax exempt, but they don’t agree. They’ve been hounding me for months – Isaiah Kharome is my pen name.’

‘Ah,’ Wally said, as if he finally understood. ‘I didn’t think they had money for you. Only trouble. But see how generosity encourages good fortune? You kindly lend me your truck, and it’s gone when they’re here. Not only that, I’ve always thought that when people are chasing you, the best place to be is behind them.’

‘So they’ve gone on, I take it. Toward Tucson?’

‘That’s what their car tracks show. I always take a morning run so I went down to the highway to check.’

‘I’m a little worried about your wife. They might see the truck on her way back from Tucson.’

‘Before my run, I used the CB to call my uncle in Dos Cabezas who has a phone and he called Annie’s cousin’s brother-in-law’s wrecking yard to leave a message that she shouldn’t drive on the interstate today. She will understand. Annie is strange even for a woman, but she possesses great intelligence. She also likes to drive fast, so I would expect her back by early afternoon with your truck, and also with some groceries. We will have a feast to good luck this evening if you would like to join us.’

Daniel frowned and said ruefully, ‘No, gosh, I can’t. I’m supposed to be in Phoenix tonight.’

Wally said with a faint chastising edge, ‘I had a teacher, an Apache holy man named Two Snakes, who taught that the best place to hide was where they’d already looked.’

‘He sounds like a very wise man,’ Daniel said, ‘but I have obligations beyond my control, and I must honor them.’

Wally nodded. ‘Religious obligations and family obligations are very important to keep things going right. But you should take the scenic route to Phoenix – Six sixty-six, to Seventy, to Sixty, and then Eighty. But of course these tax people are everywhere you go these days.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Daniel assured him. ‘I’m difficult to catch and much harder to keep.’

When Daniel heard his truck drive in two hours later, he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt in his hands. He was thinking about what to do next, given the news of pursuit. He felt tired, calm, and strangely content, as if something was coming inevitably to a conclusion, its trajectory locked. He admitted to himself that he wanted a conclusion, wanted one soon. He didn’t feel he had the power to hold on much longer. He decided to call Volta at the first opportunity. His cover was evidently blown and he wanted to know why. That was a practical matter. But he also owed Volta an explanation, or as much of one as he could give. And maybe Volta could give him some advice on how to proceed with the Diamond, how to see inside it. Daniel didn’t want to return it until he’d seen what it was the Diamond wanted him to see. Maybe Volta could offer him perspective. He felt like he was too close to see clearly, yet he couldn’t back away.

Daniel pulled out of the Two Moons Rest Stop an hour before dark. He left five thousand dollars on top of the TV, more an endowment to the notion of rest than a tip for services. Wally Moon had his head under the hood of a battered pickup when Daniel drove by. Daniel tooted twice. Without looking up, Wally Moon lifted the box-wrench in his hand and made a gesture that was, at once, forward and farewell. THE NOTEBOOKS OF JENNIFER RAINE APRIL

My name is Jennifer Raine Escapedangone; also known as you can
kiss my sweet little ass good-bye. Me and Mia went out easy the
way Clyde came in. Quick on tiptoes down the hall to the end of the
wing and the unlocked janitor’s supply room and then feet first down
the laundry chute into the basement, kids on a slide, landing on a
pile of fear-rank, night-sweat sheets that Clyde had mounded there
for us. The basement walls were ringed with huge washing machines
and dryers, and right above them was a series of narrow, ground-level
windows. The fifth window on the eastern wall had a broken lock.
I slithered through onto the cool lawn, then reached back for Mia. I
felt our hands touching in the darkness, the pain and trust between us
giving me strength, and pulled her through the window. We scampered
across the moon-shadowed grounds to the brick wall, six feet at most,
more a screen than a barrier, and from there, as my dear DJ says, it
was simply a matter of over and out, out, out, out, and free, good
gods, at last!

The first place we stopped was your standard all-nite drug-dealing
diner at the edge of town – chafed plastic glasses, tape-scabbed stools
at the formica counter, the waitress in a frayed, ice-blue rayon dress,
bra and slip straps showing through, country-and-western on the
radio in the kitchen, the spattering grill-grease and the radio’s static
indistinguishable, and four junk-grayed men nodding to the same slow
rhythm as they dunked donuts in their cold coffee.

I ordered a chocolate milkshake to share with Mia. We’d just
finished when two young strutters came in, sleaze-boys, the kind who
live on what they roll from junkies. I didn’t like the way they looked at
me. I wanted out of there so bad I left the whole five for the waitress
and headed for the door.

The greasiest one waited until I’d passed before he called, ‘Hey
mama, where you going? The party’s just about to get started.’

‘Sorry, I have a date with the DJ to dance on Jim Bridger’s grave.’
I walked away.

I hitched a ride around dawn from an old rancher in a battered
flatbed who said he could only take me a little ways; I told him
that was far enough. I lied to all his questions, and said nothing
when he scolded me for hitching alone. ‘Lotsa bad men out driving.
Drunked-up, too.’

He took me almost to Fairfield. I went to a Salvation Army store
and bought some faded Levis and a men’s flannel shirt with my last
five dollars.

After that I hitched a ride – another farmer – to here, somewhere in
the central valley. I’m writing this by the scatter of moonlight through
the cracked shakes of an abandoned barn. It’s ramshackle and smells
like old piss, but it’s shelter enough on this warm spring night.

Ever since we got here (Mia’s already asleep – she had a tough
day) I’ve been trying to remember that yeasty odor of bread rising in
my grandmother’s warming oven from when I was four or five, and
I just smelled it now, sharp and musky, and I remember my blue
pajamas and the moonlight sheen on the goosedown quilt as soft as a
goodnight kiss. And if I hold really still and forget myself, I feel the
mist of my father’s seed in my mother’s pulse, can feel myself passing
bodiless between them, my face erupting out of nothingness, my tiny
mouth already hungry for a voice, and I can see my first dream shiver
through the veins in my almost transparent eyelids, but I can’t remember
what I was dreaming. The first dream – that’s what I want to know.
I want to remember the first dream I ever had. And then I’ll use that
knowledge to ransom my ghost from the lightning.

Daniel didn’t call Volta at the first opportunity, nor the hundredth. He couldn’t figure out if the second thoughts represented prudent doubts or were merely allowing him to put it off. His cover was clearly blown, and Daniel had to consider the possibility that Volta had decided that the Diamond was safer with the government than with him, and had turned him to CIA, rolled over on him, ‘dropped a dime’ as Mott said.

He had to consider it, but he didn’t believe it. More likely, there was a tap, or maybe an agent inside the Alliance. A tap would make it risky to even call Volta, since they probably would set it up for immediate trace. That would provide his general location, if nothing else. He wasn’t worried about being caught – he could vanish with the Diamond and walk through a wall of tanks – but he didn’t want the annoyance. Nor did he want to leave them the truck with Wally’s and Annie’s fingerprints and a paper trail they could perhaps follow back to the AMO people who had set it up. But when all that convenient logic was exhausted, Daniel, with the fiercest honesty he could muster, knew the reason for his reluctance was a decidedly unreasonable intuition that he would be sadder for the call. Sadness would weaken him in his attempt to see what the Diamond wanted to offer.