?Why didn?t you tell us you were out of gas when we got in?? she said.
Danny Boy shifted down and angled the truck off the road into the filling station, steering with his hands in the ten-two position, bent slightly forward like a student driver beginning his first solo, his face impassive. ?You can walk across the highway and maybe catch a ride while I?m inside,? he said. ?I got to use the restroom. I forgot to tell you about that when you got in, even though it?s my truck. If you don?t have a ride by the time I leave, I?ll pick y?all up again.?
?We?ll wait in the truck. I?m sorry,? Vikki said.
Danny Boy went inside the station and paid for ten dollars? gas in advance.
?Why were you getting on his case?? Pete said.
?Ouzel Flagler?s brother owns this station.?
?Who cares??
?Pete, you never learn. You just never learn.?
?Learn what? About Ouzel? He has Buerger?s disease. He?s a sad person. He sells a little mescal. What?s the big deal? You stood up to that killer. I?m really proud of you. We don?t have to be afraid anymore.?
?Please shut up. For God?s sake, for once just shut up.? She blotted the humidity out of her eyes with a Kleenex and stared at the highway winding into the sun?s white brilliance. The terrain, untouched by shade or shadows, glaring and coarse and rock-strewn, made her think of a dry seabed and huge anthills or a planet that had already gone dead.
Danny Boy pulled the gas spigot out of the tank and clanked it back into place on the pump, then used the outside washroom and climbed back into the cab, his face still wet from a rinse in the lavatory. ?On a day like this, ain?t nothing like cold water,? he said.
None of them took note of the man on the other side of the black glare on the filling station window. He had just come out of the back of the store and was drinking a soda, upending it, his neck swollen by a chain of tumors. His head seemed recessed into his shoulders, reminiscent of a perched carrion bird?s. He finished his soda, dropped the can into the wastebasket, and seemed to think for a long time. Then he picked up the telephone.
23
PETE AND VIKKI had climbed down from Danny Boy Lorca?s truck cab, retrieved a duffel bag and guitar case from the truck bed, and entered the building dehydrated, sunburned, and windblown with road grit. Their clothes stiff with salt, they sat down in front of Hackberry?s desk as though his air-conditioned office were the end of a long journey out of the Sahara. They told him of their encounter with Preacher Jack Collins and Bobby Lee and the man named T-Bone and the fact that Collins had let them go.
?We got on the bus early this morning, but it broke down after twenty miles. So we hitchhiked,? Pete said.
?Collins just cut you loose? He didn?t harm you in any way?? Hackberry let his gaze linger on Vikki Gaddis.
?It happened just like we told you,? Vikki said.
?Where do you think Collins went?? Hackberry asked.
?Collins is y?all?s business now. Tell us what you want us to do,? Pete said.
?I haven?t quite thought it through,? Hackberry said.
?Repeat that, please?? Vikki said.
?I?ve got two empty cells. Go up the iron stairs in back and check them out.?
?You?re offering us jail cells?? she said.
?The doors would stay unlocked. You can come and go as you like.?
?I don?t believe this,? she said.
?You can use the restroom and the shower down here,? Hackberry said.
?Pete, would you say something?? Vikki said.
?Maybe it?s not a bad idea,? he replied.
Pam Tibbs came into the office and leaned against the doorjamb. ?I?ll go with you, honey.?
?With luck, we can probably find an iron staircase by ourselves,? Vikki said. ?Excuse me, I forgot to call you ?honey.??