Bill drove past another mile marker. Set back between two hills was a lighted house with a gasoline truck parked in the yard and a windmill in back. Horses stood motionlessly in a railed pen where the grass was nubbed down to the dirt.
?Excuse me,? Bill said, reaching across Pete.
?What are you doing??
?It?s my Beretta. You see that jackrabbit go across the road? Hang on.?
Bill pulled onto the shoulder and got out, staring at a dry wash running from a culvert into a tangle of brush that had leaves like thick green buttons. Out in the moonlight, away from the shadows, were cactuses blooming with yellow and red flowers. A nine-millimeter semiauto hung from Bill?s right hand. ?Want to take a shot?? he said.
?What for??
?Sometimes in hot weather, they get worms. But if you gut and skin them right and hang them from wire overnight, so all the heat drains out, they?re safe to eat. Come on, hop out.?
Pete opened the SUV?s door and stepped down on the gravel, the wind warm on his face, a smell like dried animal dung in his nostrils. The highway was empty in both directions. On the other side of the border, he thought he could see electric lights spread across the bottom of a hill.
?Follow me down here,? Bill said. ?You can have the first shot. He?s gonna spook out of the brush in just a minute. Jackrabbits always do. They don?t have the smarts to stay put, like a cottontail does. You never hunted rabbits when you were a kid??
Pete took his soda straw out of his pocket and put it in his mouth. ?Not often. Our farm was so poor the rabbits had to carry their own feed when they hopped across it.?
Bill grinned. ?Come on, we?ll flush him out. Afraid of rattlers??
?Never given them much thought.?
?Think I?m gonna rape you??
?What??
?Just a bad joke. But your behavior strikes me as a little bit queer.?
?How are you using the word ?queer???
?That?s what I mean. You?re wrapped too tight, trooper. If you ask me, you need to get your pole polished.?
Bill seemed to lose interest in the conversation. He reached down and picked up a rock. He studied the clump of brush with buttonlike leaves at the bottom of the wash and flung the rock into it hard enough to break a branch and make a clattering sound far down the wash. ?See him scoot? Told you he was in there,? he said.
?Yeah, you called it.?
Bill turned and faced Pete. His nine-millimeter was pointed downward, along his thigh, the butterfly safety pushed to the fire position. He formed a pocket of air in one cheek, then the other, like a man rinsing his mouth. ?Yes, sir, you?re a mite spooky, Pete. A hard man to read, I?d say. I bet you blew up some hajji ass over there, didn?t you??
Pete tried to remember giving his name to Bill. Maybe he had, if not at the meet, perhaps at the café. Think, think, think, he told himself. He could feel his scalp tightening. ?I?d better be getting on home. I?d like to introduce you to my girlfriend.?
?She?s waiting on you, huh??
?Yeah, she?s a good one about that.?
?Wish I was you. You bet I do,? Bill said. He looked southward into the darkness, his thoughts hidden. Then he released the magazine on his gun and stuck it in his pocket. He cleared the chamber and inserted the ejected round into the top of the magazine and shoved the magazine back into the frame with the heel of his hand. ?Think fast,? he said, throwing the gun to Pete.
?Why?d you do that??
?See if you were paying attention. Scared you, didn?t I??
?Pert? near,? Pete replied. ?You?re quite a card, Bill.?
?Not when you come to know me,? Bill said. ?No, sir, I wouldn?t say I was a card at all. Just stick my piece back in the glove box, will you??
Five miles farther down the road, the hills flattened and the moon sat on the horizon like a huge, bruised white balloon. Up ahead, Pete could see a passing lane, then a brightly lit convenience store and gas-pump island. ?We?re just about two miles or so from the dirt track that goes to our house,? he said. ?I can get off up yonder if you want.?
?In for a penny, in for a pound. I?ll take you all the way.?