TWENTY-NINE

The cop was staring at them, Payne decided. An Imperial County sheriff's deputy. His black-and-white parked in the diner lot. The cop was eating grits and French toast.

Okay, relax. The cop's staring at us because we're the only other customers.

Payne was beginning to think he didn't make a very good fugitive. He looked guilty just eating breakfast.

Tino drowned his pancakes and bacon in gloppy syrup. Payne stuck with a plain omelette, coffee, and dry toast.

The deputy looked up from his own plate. Young guy. Chunky, with a thick neck, his cheeks and nose sunburned, but pale around the eyes from his sunglasses. The waitress, a tired high school girl wearing no makeup, approached the cop's table. "Harley, you want some more coffee?"

The cop raised his cup and nodded. His gaze drifted back to Payne, who looked down and chewed his toast.

"So, Himmy. Why are you divorced from that chica caliente?"

"None of your business."

"You cheat on her?"

"Never."

"Beat her up?"

"Of course not."

"You a drogadicto or alcoholico?"

"Give me a break, kid."

"So how come she dumped you?"

"How do you know I didn't divorce her?"

Tino's laugh was hearty and unself-conscious. A boy's laugh. Adam's laugh.

"I wasn't there for her when she needed me," Payne heard himself confess.

"Where were you, vato?"

"I was there but not really there. I didn't open up. Didn't give enough." Payne shot a look at the boy. "You don't understand, do you?" Tino shrugged. "Just loving somebody isn't enough. You have to dig deep inside yourself and bare everything, no matter how painful."

"Then you can give enough?"

"Then you can bond, and each person gives to the other. It's simple math. Love equals feelings plus action. You may not know it, but that's what you're doing for your mother."

Tino forked a syrupy chunk of pancakes. "I think I get it, vato." They ate in silence. Then Tino pulled an iPod from his pocket and put on the earbuds. "Where'd you get that?" Tino pretended he couldn't hear. Payne repeated the question, doubling the decibels. Tino unplugged one earbud. "Borrowed it." His tone saying, "Don't bother me, man."

"Who from?"

" El boxeador with the big mouth."

"Quinn? Cullen Quinn lent you his iPod?"

"He didn't say no. 'Course, he was sleeping."

"You sneaked into their bedroom?"

"After I went to the toilet."

"Shit. What else did you take?"

" Nada. I swear on Saint Teresa."

The boy slipped the earbud back in, listened a moment, and sang off-key, "Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.?Que caca! "

"The Carpenters. That'd be Quinn."

Several yards away, the deputy patted his mouth with a napkin, stood, and hitched up his belt, loaded down with a gun, ammo, radio, flashlight, and other doodads.

The deputy sidled over to their table. His name tag read, "H. Dixon." "Morning, folks."

"Good morning, Deputy Dixon," Payne said, cheerfully. Just like picking a jury, using the man's name. A sign of friendliness.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Hope that's not a crime." Smiling as he said it.

"Nope. We love tourists." The cop paused a beat. "Medium rare."

Payne figured he should laugh, so he did.

"What's with your T-shirt?" The cop nodded his sunburned face toward the steroid-pumped skull of Barry Bonds.

"My Jose Canseco shirt was dirty."

"You're kind of a wise guy, aren't you?"

"As long as that's not a crime, either."

The cop turned to Tino, who'd kept his head down, forking pancakes into his mouth. "What's your name, son?"

Tino kept eating.

"C'mon now, chico. You know your name, doncha?"

Tino pulled out the earbuds. "Harry Potter."

"He's such a joker." Payne kicked the kid under the table.

Dixon kept his eyes on Tino. "Well, you have a good day, Harry." He put on his hat and nodded to Payne. "You drive real careful now, sir. We've lost tourists in some hellish accidents lately."

Payne watched the deputy walk out the front door.

Heading toward his cruiser, the cop stopped alongside the Lexus. Then he walked a full 360 degrees around the vehicle, as if sizing it up on a dealer's lot. Or maybe memorizing the license plate.

Payne was quickly losing his appetite. "Finish your pancakes, kiddo. We gotta get going."

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