Swan Peak (Dave Robicheaux 17)

“A fellow who’s right around the corner, just waiting for me to get to the end of the street.”

Now she was in a breezy gas station shaded by pine trees, filling up the SUV, gazing at mountain peaks that looked like they belonged on a postcard. Twenty feet away was an unshaved man filling a five-gallon plastic fuel container. He was wearing a flannel shirt and laced boots and canvas work pants, obviously overdressed for the mild weather in the way that men deliberately overdress to indicate their indifference to their own discomfort. “Can I help you with something?” he said, catching her stare.

She didn’t reply. She glanced through the window of the convenience store, where she could see Troyce counting out coins next to the cash register.

“Did you hear me?” the unshaved man asked.

She could feel the gas humming through the hose and handle into the SUV’s tank. She heard the unshaved man drop his five-gallon fuel container onto the floor of his vehicle and slam the door. But he was still standing on the concrete slab, his eyes probing the side of her face, his hand squeezing his scrotum. Troyce came out of the store eating a candy bar. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Check it out,” she said, her eyes on Troyce’s.

“What?”

“The guy from the revival.”

“What about him?”

“Nothing. He’s here, that’s all.”

“He crack wise or something?”

“I wouldn’t call it that.”

“What’d he say?”

“He’s a jerk. Who cares?”

Troyce dropped the paper bag containing his candy bars and chocolate milk through the open window of the SUV and walked over to where the man named Quince stood by the pump. “You make some kind of remark to Miss Candace?” he said.

“She was eyeballing me, so I asked if I could help her.”

“You been in the pen?”

“What?”

“You said she was eyeballing you. That’s an expression that convicts on the hard road use.”

“I got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“At the revival I showed you a photograph of a man I’m looking for. You said you’d never seen him. But that’s not the truth, is it?”

Quince brushed at his nose and huffed air out of one nostril. Then he surprised Troyce Nix. “Maybe it’s the truth, maybe not.”

“How am I supposed to read that?” Troyce asked.

“What’s in it for me?” Quince asked.

Troyce looked around and seemed to think about it. The breeze was blowing through the pine trees. His face looked cool and untroubled inside the shade. “I don’t like talking out here. Go

in the restroom and wait for me.”

“You hold your negotiations in the shitter?” When Troyce didn’t reply, Quince said, “I’ll move my car.”

Quince went inside the convenience store, looking once over his shoulder.

“Troyce, don’t get in trouble. Not because of me,” Candace said.

“Ain’t gonna be no trouble, darlin’,” he replied.