The road bent close to the river again, and up ahead I could see Tony's fish camp and the Lincoln convertible parked in the back under the trees. Smoke rose from the chimney and flattened in the salt breeze off the Gulf. I pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the road and cut the engine.
I took Tony's .45 from the pocket of my fatigue jacket and handed it to him. He looked back at me strangely.
"Here's the lay of the land, Tony," I said. "I think you've got a big Purple Heart nailed up m the middle of your forehead. Everybody is supposed to feel you're the only guy who did bad time in Vietnam. You also give me the impression that somebody else is responsible for your addiction and getting you out of it. But the bottom line is you sell dope to people and they fuck up their lives with it."
"I think maybe it's you who's got the problem with conscience, Dave."
"You're wrong. As of now you're on your own. As far as I know, you died in that fire back there. I don't think a county medical examiner, particularly in a place like this, will ever sort out the bones and teeth in that hangar. If you disappear into Mexico with Paul and stay out of the business, I think the DEA will write you off. I doubt if your wife will be a problem, either, since she'll acquire almost everything you own."
He chewed on his lip and looked up the incline at the camp.
"You've got your plane, you've got Jess to fly it, you've got that fine little boy to take with you," I said. "I think if you make the right choice, Tony, you might be home free."
"They won't believe you."
"Maybe you inflate your importance. Twenty-four hours after you're off the board, somebody else will take your place. In a year nobody will be able to find your file."
He made pockets of air in his cheeks and switched them back and forth as though he were swishing water around in his mouth.
"It's a possibility, isn't it?" he said. He bit a hangnail off his thumb and removed it from his tongue. "Just pop through a hole in the dimension and leave a big question mark behind. That's not bad."
"Like you said to me the other day, it's always about money. Stay away from the money, and the Houston and Miami crowd will probably stay away from you."
"Maybe."
"But any way you cut it, it's adiós, Tony."
"My ranch is outside a little village called Zapopan. Maybe you'll get a postcard from there."
"No, I think your story ends here."
He pulled the clip from the handle of his .45, slid back the receiver, removed the round from the chamber, and inserted it in the top of the clip. He tapped the clip idly against the chrome-plated finish of the pistol, then put his hand on the door handle.
"I don't guess you're big on shaking hands," he said.
I rested my palm on the bottom of the steering wheel and looked straight ahead at the yellow road winding through the trees.
"Say good-bye to Paul for me," I said.
I heard him get out of the truck and close the door.
"Tony?" I said.
He looked back through the window.
"If I ever hear you're dealing dope again, we'll pick it up where we left off."
"No, I don't think so, Dave. I have a feeling your cop days are about over."
"Oh?"
He leaned down on the window jamb.
"Your heart gets in the way of your head," he said. "If you don't know that, the pencil pushers you work for will. They'll get rid of you, too. Maybe you won't accept any thanks from me, and maybe I won't even offer you any, but my little boy up there says thank you. You can wear that in your hat or stick it in your ear. So long, Dave."
He walked up the pine-needle-covered slope toward the back of the camp. He took his Marine Corps utility cap from his back pocket, slapped the soot off it against his trousers, and fitted it at an angle on his head. I drove slowly down the road past the camp, the truck
lurching in the flooded potholes, and saw him open the screen door and smile at someone inside.