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leaking out of the gas tank. The fire mushroomed abruptly, engulfing the rear half of the vehicle. Chee watched it grimly. The tank was about half full as he remembered it—perhaps twelve gallons. There was another twenty in the auxiliary tank. When that heated up, it would go off like a bomb.
What had been Tomas Charley still knelt, forehead to grass. Chee walked past the body and picked up the sack containing the thermos of coffee and the picnic lunch. They had a long walk ahead of them. He spent another few minutes making a methodical search of the spring area for the box. Charley had said he'd left it in plain view on the rock just beside the water. There was no box now. Behind him, he heard the muffled boom of the gas tank exploding.
"Boy," Mary Landon said when he walked up. "You Navajos give exciting picnics." She laughed, but it was a shaky laugh. The fire flared up again with a
whoosh
of flame as a front tire exploded, and she raised her hand to shade her face from the heat. Her sleeve was torn and her wrist was smeared with blood from a long scratch on her forearm.
"You all right?" he asked. "Thank God you took the rifle with you."
"I knew you'd say that." Suddenly Mary Landon was furious. "Why wouldn't I take it? Because I was stupid, that would be why. I'd just seen a tied-up dead body, and the man who must have killed him coming right toward me, and you yelling at me to run, and the rifle right there in the scabbard. Why wouldn't I take it?" Her voice was fierce. "Because I'm a half-wit woman? I wouldn't have said that if you'd taken the rifle. I'd take it for granted. But no. I'm a woman, so I'm stupid."
"Sorry," Chee said.
"What's wrong with this damned rifle anyway?" Mary said. She handed it to him, which reminded Chee that his spare ammunition was in the glove box and would be exploding any minute.
"Let's back away a little," he said. As he said it, the 30-30 rounds began exploding, no louder than firecrackers.
"I'm a pretty good shot, I thought," Mary said. "I was missing him a mile."
"Sorry about that, too," Chee said. "When I'm not using it I let the rear sight down." He showed her, pushing the leaf sight up with his thumb and sliding the calibrated wedge forward to the 200-yard mark.
Mary looked from Chee's thumb to Chee's face, her glance asking: Is this man for real? She shook her head. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"Takes the strain off the spring," Chee said lamely.
Suddenly she leaned against him. He felt her shaking. "Sorry I've been so bitchy," she said, talking into his coat. "I'm not used to this."
"Me either," Chee said.
"That man back there. Was that Mr. Charley? The one you were looking for? He was dead, wasn't he? Did that blond man kill him? Do you know what's going on?"
"Yes," Chee said. "And no. It was Charley. He was dead. And I don't have any idea what the hell is going on."
While he was saying it, Mary became aware of the blood on his shirt. Childish as he knew it was, being wounded made him feel a little less foolish. If the rib hadn't hurt so much, and if he hadn't had a five-mile walk back to the highway ahead of him, it would have been almost worthwhile.
----
Chapter Fourteen
« ^ »
C olton wolf had left tracks. Two witnesses had seen him. Close and clearly. They could identify him. They could connect him with murder and with a rented car. The car-rental connection would provide other witnesses and uncover the false identity. He gunned the Plymouth down the access acceleration lane and onto Interstate 40 west. There was no time wasted deciding what to do. He'd decided that before he'd left his trailer. This was Plan B. Plan B was what he did if the operation created the sort of disturbance that made the routine withdrawal in some way risky. There had been a Plan B and variations of Plan B for each of his previous operations. But he'd never used one before because there had never been a disturbance. Previously, the targets had died unobserved, quietly and
What had been Tomas Charley still knelt, forehead to grass. Chee walked past the body and picked up the sack containing the thermos of coffee and the picnic lunch. They had a long walk ahead of them. He spent another few minutes making a methodical search of the spring area for the box. Charley had said he'd left it in plain view on the rock just beside the water. There was no box now. Behind him, he heard the muffled boom of the gas tank exploding.
"Boy," Mary Landon said when he walked up. "You Navajos give exciting picnics." She laughed, but it was a shaky laugh. The fire flared up again with a
whoosh
of flame as a front tire exploded, and she raised her hand to shade her face from the heat. Her sleeve was torn and her wrist was smeared with blood from a long scratch on her forearm.
"You all right?" he asked. "Thank God you took the rifle with you."
"I knew you'd say that." Suddenly Mary Landon was furious. "Why wouldn't I take it? Because I was stupid, that would be why. I'd just seen a tied-up dead body, and the man who must have killed him coming right toward me, and you yelling at me to run, and the rifle right there in the scabbard. Why wouldn't I take it?" Her voice was fierce. "Because I'm a half-wit woman? I wouldn't have said that if you'd taken the rifle. I'd take it for granted. But no. I'm a woman, so I'm stupid."
"Sorry," Chee said.
"What's wrong with this damned rifle anyway?" Mary said. She handed it to him, which reminded Chee that his spare ammunition was in the glove box and would be exploding any minute.
"Let's back away a little," he said. As he said it, the 30-30 rounds began exploding, no louder than firecrackers.
"I'm a pretty good shot, I thought," Mary said. "I was missing him a mile."
"Sorry about that, too," Chee said. "When I'm not using it I let the rear sight down." He showed her, pushing the leaf sight up with his thumb and sliding the calibrated wedge forward to the 200-yard mark.
Mary looked from Chee's thumb to Chee's face, her glance asking: Is this man for real? She shook her head. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"Takes the strain off the spring," Chee said lamely.
Suddenly she leaned against him. He felt her shaking. "Sorry I've been so bitchy," she said, talking into his coat. "I'm not used to this."
"Me either," Chee said.
"That man back there. Was that Mr. Charley? The one you were looking for? He was dead, wasn't he? Did that blond man kill him? Do you know what's going on?"
"Yes," Chee said. "And no. It was Charley. He was dead. And I don't have any idea what the hell is going on."
While he was saying it, Mary became aware of the blood on his shirt. Childish as he knew it was, being wounded made him feel a little less foolish. If the rib hadn't hurt so much, and if he hadn't had a five-mile walk back to the highway ahead of him, it would have been almost worthwhile.
----
Chapter Fourteen
« ^ »
C olton wolf had left tracks. Two witnesses had seen him. Close and clearly. They could identify him. They could connect him with murder and with a rented car. The car-rental connection would provide other witnesses and uncover the false identity. He gunned the Plymouth down the access acceleration lane and onto Interstate 40 west. There was no time wasted deciding what to do. He'd decided that before he'd left his trailer. This was Plan B. Plan B was what he did if the operation created the sort of disturbance that made the routine withdrawal in some way risky. There had been a Plan B and variations of Plan B for each of his previous operations. But he'd never used one before because there had never been a disturbance. Previously, the targets had died unobserved, quietly and
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