Stuart Woods - Short Straw

"No, just our first wives. Maybe you'll get lucky next time, the way I did."

"You did get lucky, didn't you?"

"Yeah, and now when I pay my film editor, the money stays in the family. And not only that, when she's not working with me, she goes out and earns a very nice buck working for other filmmakers."

"Now that is devoutly to be wished," Eagle said, wonder in his voice. "To think that I was happy this morning, thinking all my wife had cost me was three hundred and fifty grand, and your wife is out there, bringing home the bacon."

"The eggs, too, in a good year."

"I'm never, ever, ever going to get married again," Eagle said. "I should never have done it in the first place."

"That's not good thinking," Wolf said. "Goes against the natural order of things."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that man is not meant to be alone; he craves companionship."

"And sex."

"That, too."

"I got news for you, pal: from now on, dinner and a roll in the hay is enough companionship and sex for me. Maybe a dirty weekend now and then."

"Yeah, but you're not getting that warm, family feeling around the holidays."

"I'll sleep through the holidays."

"Yes, and alone."

"I HAVE TO PEE," Barbara said.

"I'll let you know when we're at the next gas station," Vittorio replied.

"I have to pee right now ," she said. "The road is bumpy."

"Then you're going to have to make do with a cactus for a bathroom."

"Let me worry about that."

Vittorio pulled over. "There's a nice one right over there," he said. "Some bushes, too."

Barbara got out of the car and picked her way across twenty yards of desert in her high heels to a clump of flora.

"Uh-oh," Vittorio said. He was looking in the rearview mirror.

Cupie swiveled his head around and looked back down the long, straight highway. "It's a black dot," he said.

"Right."

"Gimme those binoculars of yours." Cupie focused on the black dot. "Uh-oh," he said. He rolled down the window, letting in a gust of hot, dry air. "Barbara!"

"Just a minute ," she yelled.

"Stay where you are," Cupie called. "Car coming."

"Big deal!"

"I hope not, but it could be." Cupie watched through the glasses as the black dot got bigger. "Take off your hat," Cupie said.

"What?"

"Vittorio, they may not remember you, but they'll remember that fucking hat."

Vittorio took off his campaign hat and dropped it on the floor. "You know what I wish?" he said.

"What?"

"I wish I had a heavy machine gun."

Cupie was still glued to the binoculars. "It's a black SUV," he said. "I wish I had a hand grenade."

CUPIE AND VlTTORIO WERE HOLDING UP A MAP, CONCEALing their handguns beneath it, when the black Suburban pulled alongside them and stopped. A window slid down, and two men grinned at them from the front seat. They couldn't see who was in the backseat.

"Buenos dias, senores," the man in the passenger seat said. He was middle-aged, mustachioed, bad teeth.

"Hiya," Cupie yelled, smiling, too. "You speaka the English?"

"Of course, senor," the man replied. "Do you need help?"

"We're just looking for the best way to Juarez."

"You go straight ahead, all the way to Tijuana, then turn right on highway number two, and that takes you all the way to Juarez."

Cupie looked at the map, puzzled. "Wouldn't it be shorter to go more cross-country?"

"Yes, senor, but the roads are not so very good, and, of course, there are the banditos."

"Oh, I see. Well, it sounds more exciting that way. Thanks very much."

The rear window of the Suburban slid down a couple of inches and a pair of eyes appeared, looking into the rear seat of the Toyota, then it slid up again.

"Adios, senores," the front passenger said. "Vaya con Dios!" The Suburban roared away.

"Speaking of banditos," Vittorio said, "that guy looked just like the bandit in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. The 'We ain't got no steenk-ing badges' guy."

"Yeah, and his intentions are pretty much the same." Cupie looked over to see Barbara coming. "Get back in the bushes!" he yelled, and she turned around and disappeared again. He turned back to Vittorio. "You think they bought it?"

"Well, they didn't see the lady, did they?"

"I don't think they bought it." Cupie yelled out the window. "All right, they're gone; get back in the car."

Barbara made her way back to the Toyota and got in. "Was it them?"

"You bet your sweet ass it was," Vittorio said.

"Where did they go?"

"Straight ahead."

"Then let's turn around and go back to the Acapulco airport."

Vittorio shook his head. "The driver of the Suburban talked to the cops there; they'll be looking for you."

"He's right," Cupie agreed, "and they're probably on the phone right now, giving them a description of us and our car."

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Let's make a pass at the Puerto Vallarta airport," Cupie said, "and if it's staked out, we'll just go straight on to Tijuana and walk across the border. We'll get you a cab to the San Diego airport, and you're free as a bird."

"Sounds right to me," Vittorio said. "You on board, Babs?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Vittorio put the car in gear and drove off, dawdling along at fifty miles an hour. "Let's let them gain a little on us," he said.

EAGLE WAS BACK at his desk at three o'clock, showered and relaxed.

Betty buzzed him. "That realtor, Sally Potter, is on the phone."

Eagle picked it up. "Hi, Sally."

"Hi, Ed. I just sold a house; you up for a closing?"

"Sure, send me the contract."

"I'll have the buyer bring it over; you in all afternoon?"

"I'll be here until five."

"You're not breaking a sweat over there, are you?"

"Not so's you'd notice."

"The buyer will be there in twenty minutes."

"I'll dust off the welcome mat." He hung up. Sally Potter and other realtors often recommended him as an attorney for house buyers. He did forty or fifty closings a year, and an assistant did all the work. It paid for the copying machine and the phone bill, he reckoned.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Betty buzzed him. "Your buyer is here," she said.

"Send him in."

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line, and Betty hung up.

Eagle looked up to see a knockout blonde walk into his office. She was in her thirties, five-seven, a hundred and twenty-five pounds, wearing tight, starched jeans, a fringed buckskin jacket and a chambray shirt with the top couple of buttons invitingly undone. Her breasts were contained in about a 36C, and he reckoned it was a cup size too small. Eagle was sure he had seen her someplace before, but he couldn't place her. He was on his feet in a flash. "Good afternoon. I'm Ed Eagle."

"Hello," she said in a throaty voice. "I'm Susannah Wilde." She held out a hand.

Eagle shook it and waved her to the sofa, taking the chair opposite. The movies, he thought. He didn't go to the movies much, waiting for them to turn up on satellite TV, but he'd seen her in something. "So, you've bought a home in Santa Fe?"

"Yes, I have. The seller accepted my offer a couple of hours ago." She dug into a large handbag and came out with a paper. "Here's the contract."

Eagle scanned the document. A nice place on Tano Norte. A writer had built it and sold it to somebody else, who was now selling it. Three million bucks; Ms. Wilde was either very successful in the movies or handsomely divorced, or both. "Will you require a mortgage?" he asked.

"No, it will be a cash deal."

"I'll get a title search done and arrange for title insurance. I can recommend an insurance agent for your homeowner's policy."

"Thank you, but Sally has already put me in touch with somebody."