Potshot

"Maybe we can get a donut after," Hawk said.

He got up and took off his jacket. He was wearing his big.44 in a shoulder rig, and there was no further need to hide it. We walked across the street and stood in front of Mary Lou's store, Hawk on my left. The Preacher saw us and said something to the driver and he kept coming, and the second car followed, until he pulled up to a stop in front of us. The Preacher gestured and the two cars emptied, leaving only The Preacher and his driver still seated. Pony was in front of me. But he was aware of Hawk. I could see his eyes shift over and back. The others spread out around us in a semicircle. No one spoke. The Preacher seemed almost amused. Peripherally I could see Tedy Sapp's car move slowly in from the north end of the street, and Bobby Horse drive up from the south. Otherwise nothing moved in the street.

"So who are you," The Preacher said finally, "Wyatt fucking Earp?"

"I got some questions," I said.

The Preacher smiled.

"Pony," he said.

Pony took a step toward us and Hawk's gun barrel was suddenly pressed against his forehead. Guns came out all around us. The sound of hammers thumbed back was brisk in the hot silence. The Preacher showed no expression. Everything stopped stock-still. Behind The Preacher, to my left, Tedy Sapp was out of his car with his elbows resting on the hood and the shotgun leveled. To the right Bobby Horse was the same.

"The ball goes up," I said to Tedy Sapp, "kill The Preacher first."

My voice seemed blatant in the cavernous silence. The men in front of us glanced quickly around. Chollo walked out of the alley behind us, his Glock 9-millimeter handgun hanging loosely by his side.

"Let me kill him," Chollo said.

His voice was amplified by the silence as mine had been. Bernard J. Fortunato, with his shotgun at his shoulder, stepped out across the street. He didn't speak, but the shotgun was steady. From the secondfloor window of the hotel I heard Vi

"No," Vi

The silence seemed to twist and tighten. The frozen immobility of the scene seemed to squeeze in upon itself as though it would eventually shatter. I felt as if the pit of my stomach were clenched tike a fist. Fortunately I was brave, clean and reverent, otherwise I might have been a little scared.

"You got any preference?" I said to The Preacher.

"This all the people you got?" The Preacher said.

"All we need at the moment," I said. "You know a guy named Morris Ta

The Preacher just stared at me.

"Morris tells me you and he had a deal," I said. "But he's mad at you now and wants you gone."

No one moved. The Preacher stared.

"Wants to pay us to get rid of you."

Hawk still pressed the muzzle of his.44 against Pony's forehead. I could hear Pony breathing.

"This guy Ta

"Ro

The Preacher thought about that.

"So what's your question?" The Preacher said.

"What was your deal with Ta

The Preacher thought about that. I was pretty sure he wasn't brave, clean and reverent, but he didn't seem scared. In fact he didn't seem anything. His pale eyes showed nothing that I could detect. His voice was without inflection. His body language revealed nothing. In fact there was no body language. He sat motionless.

"Why should I tell you?" he said.

"Why not?" I said.

The Preacher looked slightly amused. His face like one of those close-up photographs of rattlesnakes where the snake seems almost mischievous.

"Why not," he said.

I waited, both of us ringed with weapons, both of us heated by the sun. Then The Preacher made some sort of facial gesture which was probably a smile.

"Why not," he said again. "Ta

"Why?"

"He never said."

"What did you get?"

"I got a fee. And we got whatever we could squeeze out of the town."

"Why is the deal off?"

"Maybe you should ask him."

"I don't have him in the middle of the street with six weapons pointed at him."

"You think I'm talking 'cause I'm scared?"

The Preacher's empty eyes held on me.

"No," I said.

He nodded slowly.

"We like what we got," The Preacher said. "We can live off this town forever, we don't use it up."

"So you didn't want to drive people out."

"Not till we got all there was."

"And Ta

"Fuck him," The Preacher said.

In the silence I could hear my own breathing. I felt stiff with tension. But I held still. Everyone was probably as tight as I was. I didn't want to start the shooting.

Carefully I said, "Who killed Steve Buckman?"

"Don't know."

"You got any co

The Preacher made a cackling sound. It might have been a laugh.

"I'd like one," he said. "How about you, Pony? You like to make a co

Pony was stock-still with the muzzle of Hawk's gun still against his forehead. It was a big gun, a.44 Magnum, with a stainless-steel finish that made it glitter in the brutal sunshine. Neither of them had moved since the event began.

"Guess Pony ain't talking," The Preacher said.

"Thanks for your help," I said. "Time to go."

"Maybe we don't think so," The Preacher said.

"Maybe we don't care," I said.

The Preacher glanced slowly around at the circumstances. They were not to his advantage.

"Things start," The Preacher said. "We kill you first."

"We'll go together," I said.

The Preacher nodded, still assessing.

"We'll go," he said.

"Stay away from the town," I said.

The Preacher gave me another one of those amused rattlesnake stares. Then he nodded at the other men. And they got back in their vehicles. As they drove away, the muscles that had been so tight now became so loose I felt like I ought to lie down. Decompensating. The sound of the two vehicles faded. Sapp tossed his shotgun onto the back seat of his car and got in the driver's side. Bernard J. Fortunato got in with him. Chollo got in with Bobby Horse. Vi

"Cool," he said.

Chapter 53

THE RATTLESNAKE CAFE served donuts. Hawk had four, and coffee. I wasn't hungry yet. I had coffee.

"You know he ain't going to let this go," Hawk said.

I nodded.

"Why he told you all that stuff. 'Cause he going to kill you."

"And you," I said.

"And everybody else," Hawk said. "So he don't care what he says to you."

"Which means he probably told the truth."

"Probably," Hawk said.

"Which means maybe Steve Buckman wasn't killed by the Dell."

Hawk broke a donut in half and took a significant bite.

"How 'bout the Saguaro Development Corporation?"