Potshot

"Be fun to drink beer with," I said.

"If you drank a real lot," Dark said.

"You able to get anyone to check the real estate?"

" 'Course I did," Dark said. "I'm the goddamned police."

"And?"

"And I had somebody go over to the county hall, like you wanted, and look up real estate transactions in and around Potshot. Here's a list."

Dark handed me the list.

"Recognize any names?" he said.

"Couple," I said. "Who's this Saguaro Development Associates?"

"Thought you'd ask me that," Dark said. He handed me another sheet. "Recognize any names?" he said.

"All of them," I said.

I took it and folded it over and tucked it in the inside pocket of my elegant toffee-colored summer silk tweed jacket, which I wore to conceal my somewhat less elegant, blue-barreled handgun.

Chapter 51

"We WALKED THROUGH it," Hawk said at breakfast. "Without the shotguns."

"Or the Heckler," Vi

"I have no shotgun," Chollo said.

"Artists are so self-absorbed," I said. "You see anything wrong with the plan?"

"It should be smooth," Hawk said. "Vi

"I want to get a look at Pony," Tedy Sapp said.

"Be easy to spot him," Hawk said.

Sapp poured himself more coffee.

"For crissake, Tedy," Bernard said. "How many cups is that?"

"Six."

"Don't you get all jeeped up?" Bernard said.

"Sure," Tedy said. "It's why I drink it."

"You learn anything yesterday worth knowing?" Hawk said to me.

"Potshot can't get any bigger," I said. "Unless there's an additional source of water."

"Like somebody finds an underground river?" Hawk said.

I shook my head pityingly.

"It's a common misconception," I said, "that water flows underground like a river. Most aquifers are better thought of as a giant sponge, which holds the water. One such aquifer, the Arapaho Aquifer, supplies the water currently sustaining Potshot."

"Anglos are generally dull," Chollo said, "but you senor, you are truly so."

"So are there any other underground sponges beside the Arapaho thing?" Hawk said.

"My expert does not know, which makes him very unhappy, but he says it's possible."

"So if someone found one," Sapp said.

"And kept their mouth shut," Hawk said.

"And perhaps purchased some land, cheap?"

I took my list out of my pocket and spread it on the table. Beside it I put the list of names of people who comprised the Saguaro Development Associates.

Everybody looked at both papers while I waited, watching enviously as Sapp polished off his sixth cup of coffee.

"Appears that we employed by Saguaro Associates," Hawk said.

"J. George Taylor," Bernard read aloud. "Luther M. Barnes, Henry F. Brown, Roscoe B. Land, Mary Louise Allard."

"Read it again, Bernard," Tedy Sapp said. "It was like listening to music."

Bernard ignored Sapp.

"Who's this Mary Louise Allard?" he said.

"Our own Mary Lou," I said. "Allard is her maiden name."

Everyone was quiet for awhile.

Then Vi

"Means we're in the middle of some kind of very big swindle," Sapp said.

"So whose side are we on?" Chollo said.

"I'm not sure," I said.

Hawk said, "Preacher might know."

"Yeah," I said. "He might."

Chapter 52

HAWK AND I sat in the dark on the front porch of The Jack Rabbit I

"You figure The Preacher an early riser?" Hawk said.

"I wanted everything in place."

"That's for sure."

We sat some more, sipping the coffee, looking at the inactive town, waiting. A yellow cat eased across the street and disappeared down the alley to the left of Mary Lou's storefront. Somewhere from the rooftops we could hear the twitter of birds.

"You know this ain't the best way," Hawk said.

I didn't say anything. The coffee smell was strong and comforting in the unsullied morning air.

"Best way," Hawk said, just as if I'd asked him, "be to pen them into that canyon and shoot them from up above."

I nodded.

"You know that, well as I do," Hawk said.

I nodded.

"But we going to do it this way."

I nodded.

"Being your faithful Afro-American companion ain't the easiest thing I ever done."

"But think of the positive side," I said.

"Which is?"

"Lemme get back to you on that," I said.

The light had spread across the street and past Mary Lou's storefront. Behind it came sunshine, still weak, but tinged with color, and carrying with it the promise of heat. I could feel the tension begin to knot. Hawk showed nothing. I'd never seen him show anything. He'd been cool for so long that if there were something to show, he probably wouldn't know it. Hawk drank more coffee, looking out over the rim of the cup along the now bright street.

"Need donuts," Hawk said.

"Try not to think about it," I said.

A few people began to appear. There were a couple of fortyish women, in sneakers, shorts and tank tops power-walking on the sidewalk across the street. Some of the shops began to open. Doors were unlocked. Shades went up. Mary Lou, her hair held back by a blue-and-white polka dot headband, opened up on the other side. If she saw us she chose not to acknowledge it. In the hotel kitchen they were cooking bacon. The yellow cat reappeared, looking satisfied, and pattered down the sidewalk away from us, with his tail in the air.

"Bet he had a donut," Hawk said.

We were out of coffee. The street was bright now, and hot. Hawk seemed almost asleep in the chair beside me. His eyes were invisible behind his sunglasses, his gun concealed by a light silk warm-up jacket, the sleeves of which were tight over his upper arm.

Cars began to appear. More shops opened along the street. People spruced up for the morning walked past the hotel. Many of them trailed a hint of cologne and shampoo and shaving soap in the still air. One of Potshot's two police cruisers rolled slowly down toward the station.

Hawk watched it go by, his head turning slowly to follow it. Otherwise he was motionless.

"We follow that cruiser," he said, "we find donuts. Cops always know where there're donuts."

"Ever have a Krispy Kreme donut?" I said.

"No."

"Me either."

The sun had gotten high enough to shine straight into the windows of the shops across the street when they came. The old Scout was first, and even from a distance, as it turned into Main Street, I could see The Preacher, a contrast in pallor and black, sitting in front in the passenger seat. There were three other men, one of whom was almost certainly Pony, looming in the back seat, the Scout canted toward his side. Behind them came a ratty looking Jeep Wrangler that might once have been blue. There were four men in it.