He looked haggard. He had composed himself for the camera, but now his nerves were beginning to fray again.
Fatigue, jangled nerves, and a loaded handgun made for a lethal combination.
Tiel could strangle Cain for goading him. In her opinion, the FBI would be better off without Agent Cain. "Ronnie, how about allowing us a bathroom break?" she suggested. "It's been hours for all of us. It may help everyone relax until we hear back from Galloway. What do you say?"
He thought it over. "You ladies. One at a time. Not the men. If they have to go, they can do it out here."
Donna excused herself first. Then Gladys. Tiel went last. While in the rest room, she rewound the audiotape in her pocket recorder and spot-checked it. Sabra's voice came through, muffled but distinct enough, saying about her father, "That's the kind of person he is. He hates to be crossed." She fast-forwarded, stopped it again, depressed the Play button, and heard Doc's gritty baritone. "… at everybody. At everything. Goddamn cancer. My own inadequacy.
"
Yes! She'd been afraid the tape had run out before that confidential conversation. He would be a fantastic guest to have on Nine Live. If she could persuade him to do it.
She would just have to, that's all. She would begin the program with file footage of his travails following his wife's death, then ask for an updated viewpoint on those unhappy events that had reshaped his life. They could segue into a discussion about destroyed dreams. A psychologist, possibly a clergyman, could join them to expand on that theme: What happens to one's spirit when one's world falls apart?
Excited by the prospect, she replaced the recorder in her pocket, used the toilet, and washed her face and hands. By the time she came out, Vern was headed toward the men's room to empty the bucket the men had used.
As Vern passed Cain, he asked Ronnie, "What about him?"
"No. Unless you're volunteering to unzip him and do the honors."
Vern snorted and continued on his way. "Looks like you're gonna have to wet yourself, G-man."
The Mexican men, catching the gist of the exchange, snorted with ridicule.
Tiel rejoined Doc, whose gaze was fixed on the two men seated near the refrigerated cabinet with the shattered glass door. Tiel followed the direction of his thoughtful stare. "I wonder about that," he murmured.
"What?"
"The two of them." 'Juan and Two?"
"Pardon?"
"I nicknamed the short one Juan. The taller one-"
"Two. I get it."
He turned away and resumed his spot near Sabra. Tiel looked at him quizzically as she sat down beside him.
"What's botheri
ng you about them?"
He raised one shoulder in a shrug. "Something's out of joint."
"Like what?"
"I can't put my finger on it. I noticed them when they first came into the store. They were acting weird even then."
"In what way?"
"They were heating up food in the microwave, but I got the impression they weren't really here for a snack. It was like they were killing time. Waiting on something. Or someone."
"Hmm."
"I picked up this… I don't know… bad vibe." He chuckled with self-deprecation. "I was leery of them, but never in a million years would I have looked twice at Ronnie Davison. Just goes to show how misleading first impressions can be."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. I noticed you when you came into the store."