Santa Fe Edge

30

Tip Hanks finished an afternoon of hitting with his driver and fairway woods on the practice range. He had a drink at the clubhouse bar, then drove home. He showered and put on a robe, then went into his study to check his e-mail.

He stuck his head into Dolly’s office. “Anything going on?”

“A couple of phone messages,” she replied. “They’re next to your computer. How was your practice session?”

“Just great. My swing is right where it should be. I’m looking forward to this weekend.” He had a tournament in San Diego.

“Good news. You must be tired. Can I get you a drink?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m just going to check my e-mail.”

She got up and went to the bar while he went to his computer. Nothing pressing: just one e-mail from his agent and one from his clothing sponsor, and he dealt with those.

She walked up behind him, set his drink near his computer mouse and began massaging his shoulders.

“God, that’s good,” he said, relaxing to her touch. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“From having it done to me, I guess,” she replied. She pulled his head back to nestle between her breasts and continued to rub his neck and shoulders.

“Mmmm, nice cushion,” he said, feeling for his drink and taking a pull at it. “You’re a woman of many talents.” He had enjoyed her cooking a while back, but he had kept his hands off her.

She spun him around and pulled his head back to her breasts, still rubbing his neck.

He was becoming aroused now. He kissed her on a breast, and she made a welcoming noise. He pushed her sweater up and unhooked her bra. Her nipples answered the call.

“You’re bad,” she breathed.

“You make me want to be bad,” he said.

She pushed him back in his chair and knelt in front of him. She was tall enough for him to reach her lips, and they kissed repeatedly.

His robe fell open, and she took him in her hand and stroked him. He was already fully erect, and she bent down and kissed his penis a few times. He pulled her head down, and she took him into her mouth. He was making all the right noises, then suddenly he came.

She continued what she was doing until he fell back, spent, then took him by the hand, picked up his drink and led him to his bed, pulling back the covers. “You need a nap,” she said, setting his drink on the bedside table.

“Take a nap with me,” he said.

“No, you need the rest,” she replied. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She was lying on the sofa in the study a couple of hours later, when he came and knelt beside her. “Your turn,” he said, undoing her jeans and pulling them off.

She lay back and enjoyed herself. He was really good at this, she thought-not quite as good as Ellie, but very good. Where had Ellie gone? Why hadn’t she said good-bye?

VITTORIO AND CUPIE had assumed their positions near Eagle’s house, waiting for him to arrive home from work, when Cupie came on the radio. “Mercedes station wagon heading up the hill. You read?”

“I read you,” Vittorio said. “I’m watching for it.”

The station wagon appeared, driving slowly up the road, then it slowed to a crawl in front of Eagle’s house, as if the driver wanted to get a good look at it, then continued up the road and out of sight.

“Whoever that was took a good look at the house,” Vittorio said into the radio. “I couldn’t see who was driving; the car’s roof was in the way.”

“That’s not the sort of car a hit man would drive,” Cupie said. “He’d be in a rental if he was from out of town.”

“Agreed,” Vittorio said. He sat for a few minutes, thinking that it was good to have Cupie around. He spent too many of his days alone, and it was nice to have somebody to bitch at.

He jerked back to reality as the station wagon reappeared, headed down the hill. Vittorio still couldn’t see the driver. He picked up the radio. “The Mercedes is headed back down the hill. See if you can get a look at the driver.”

“Here it comes,” Cupie said. “Naw, the setting sun is reflecting in the windshield; can’t see past that. He’s gone. Did he check out the house again?”

“He didn’t seem to slow down, but he was driving slowly,” Vittorio replied.

“Hey, here comes Eagle,” Cupie said.

“I’ve got him,” Vittorio replied as Eagle’s car appeared down the road. The black Mercedes pulled into the driveway, and Eagle got out, looked around, then went into the house. He didn’t seem to use the garage much. “Okay,” Vittorio said into the radio, “he’s in the house. I’ll pick you up shortly.”

He got the car and drove down to where Cupie waited.

“Let’s stop at the Tesuque Market and get a drink and some dinner,” Cupie said.

“Good idea,” Vittorio replied. The Tesuque Market was a grocery, restaurant and bar that did a good business from the local residents and some tourists, too. “Look,” Vittorio said, pointing at the cars parked outside. The Mercedes station wagon was among them.

Vittorio found a parking place, and they found a table on the front porch and ordered a drink. As they were looking at the menu a man walked past their table, a newspaper under his arm and a bag of food in his other hand. He got into the station wagon, backed out and drove away.

“You know who that is?” Vittorio asked.

“Never saw him before,” Cupie replied, sipping his drink.

“That’s the guy who’s staying in Barbara’s house.”

“You think he’s driving her car?”

“That’s my guess,” Vittorio replied. “If she went to San Francisco or L.A. she wouldn’t drive, would she? She’d fly.”

“Yep,” Cupie replied. “We need that guy’s name.”

“The car won’t be registered to him. How will we get that?”

Cupie thought about it. “We could hit him over the head and take a look at his wallet.”

“There’s gotta be a lazier way,” Vittorio said. He got up, walked into the market and over to the checkout counter, where a young girl was sitting at the register, looking bored. “Excuse me,” Vittorio said to her. “That guy who just walked out: Do you know his name? He looked familiar.”

“The tall guy?” she asked.

“Yeah, with the western shirt.”

She looked down at an electronic credit card reader and pushed a couple of buttons. “Barton Cross, it says here,” she said.

“Nah, he’s not who I thought he was. Thanks.” Vittorio returned to the table. “His name is Barton Cross,” he said to Cupie.

“Mean anything to you?”

“He said he worked at a movie studio and he was doing some work here. That would probably be on James Long’s movie, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably. I think that’s the only production in town at the moment.”

“What’s that studio in L.A. that Long works out of?”

“Centurion,” Cupie replied.

Vittorio got out his cell phone and dialed information, and they connected him.

“Centurion Studios,” an operator said.

“Mr. Barton Cross, please.”

“Just a moment.” There was a click followed by ringing.

“Long Productions,” a man’s voice said.

“May I speak with Barton Cross,” Vittorio asked.

“Bart is on vacation,” the man replied. “Can I take a message?”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“End of the month, I think.”

“I’ll call back then.” Vittorio hung up. “Bart Cross is on vacation for a couple of weeks.”

“Not working in Santa Fe?”

“Nope. On vacation.”

“I like him for a hit man,” Cupie said.

“So do I,” Vittorio replied.