68

“Where are we now?”


“Out of Chicago, headed for Minneapolis-St. Paul.”

“What time is it?”

“Nine, maybe nine-thirty.”

“What night is this?”

“Friday. I forget the date. It’s the damn Labor Day weekend. Sunday drivers all over the place.”

“Thanks for stopping to let me buy these clothes and all.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“You expecting to stop again soon?”

“We could take a break next service area if you want. I’m already half a day behind-another few stops won’t make much difference. We’re taking a route a little farther north than they’d guess from my manifest. That’s just in case somebody happens to be looking for this truck, I mean. I doubt they are but what the hell.”

“I don’t know how to begin to-”

“Don’t. You hungry again or what?”

“I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“Okay,” he says. Then after a little while: “Want to talk about it?”

“It’s something that came on me just a little while ago. You know how a fresh idea sometimes will pop into your mind when you’re half asleep?”

“I get some of my songs that way.”

“I’ve been running away for months. The baby and I are still running right now. I’m tired of it. Hell, I’m just tired period.”

“You can talk about it if you like. I’m a good listener.”

“You really are. And I probably owe you some truth. It’s the least I can do. Who knows. Maybe you can turn it into a song.”

“And sell it to Willie Nelson and make my fortune. You go right ahead. We’ve still got a couple thousand miles to go.”

“How do you keep awake? Do you take pills?”

“I used to. Went to cocaine for a while too. Lucky I never freebased but once or twice-but even so spent three months in a rehab program getting off everything. Now I settle for coffee, a little No-Doz now and then. I get tired I go to sleep. I’ve got a funny metabolism though-I can go a long time without sleep sometimes.”

“I tried cocaine once. Made my nose run for three days.”

“You’re lucky if that’s all the contact you had. Stuff can turn you inside out. You get real paranoid.”

“I know. I’ve seen it. I’m a prude about it.” She hesitates. Then: “I left my husband when I found out he was dealing coke.”

“This the guy that’s after you now?”

“The same. I don’t mean street-corner peddling-I’m talking airplane loads. He’s in the importing business. The wholesale end, you might say.”

“You married this man?”

“I married him. Had his child. This feels awkward but I like telling you about it. I’ve never talked to anybody about it.”

“You just go right ahead. I’m starting to write that song already. Make up for that twenty-five thousand dollars I didn’t collect.”

“There’s not so much to tell. I decided to take the baby away from him and raise her myself. I knew he’d try to find us. He’s got a lot of money to spend on detectives and whatever it takes. It seemed obvious we wouldn’t have much of a chance unless we had a lot of money to spend on keeping out of his reach.”

“You mean it’s not just the baby he’s trying to get back. You took his money too.”

“It was her money. He owed it to her. Not to me, but the baby.”

“Well you’ve got her now. That’s what counts.”

“You’re very trusting. You haven’t even heard my husband’s side of the story. I stole his money and I stole his child. I don’t feel guilty and I have no sympathy for him. What does that make me?”

“I don’t want to hear his side of it. I believe you.”

“Why? I’m a total stranger.”

“Look here: the only way you can find out whether you can trust somebody is to trust him.”

“You mean trust someone and see what happens.”

“You trusted me. See what happened? Got yourself a ride fit for a queen in this luxurious Cadillac limousine.”

She’s thinking of Bert with a smoking rifle in his hand and the flailing body of a deer whirling against a tree. She says, “I know how the drug business operates. It can’t exist without people getting killed. I don’t know if he’s ever pointed a gun and shot someone dead. But he’s capable of it.… I stole from him. I guess that doesn’t make me the good guy. You have such a nice simple belief in things. I trusted someone else recently and it didn’t work out so hot.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to replay it in my mind. Do you know anything about helicopters?”

“Happens I do. When I was nineteen I used to work on them in the navy. Engine mechanic. Why?”

“There’s the service area coming up. Can we stop at a phone?”

“You bet.”

She’s looking at the shotgun. He’s wedged it up into the foot-well on the passenger side where it’s out of reach of the baby’s curious proddings. With her eyes focused on the trigger she says, “You know I hate the son of a bitch. I want my revenge. It came to me a little while ago how I can fight back.”

Загрузка...