Stuart Woods - Short Straw

"Thanks. You Googled me, didn't you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I Googled you, too."

He laughed. "Got me, but I did see both pictures and a couple of others, too."

"Supporting work is sometimes the best," she said, "although, from your resume, I take it you prefer to star."

Eagle laughed. "Nobody ever put it exactly that way before, but yes, I do. I prefer associates to partners. Do you intend to keep on working after your move to Santa Fe?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to look very hard for it. I'll let my agent do that, and I'll only take the good roles. If I don't get those, then I'll produce something myself and shoot it in Santa Fe."

"You're a smart girl," he said. "I hope you don't mind being called that."

"Smart or girl?"

"Girl."

"I'm old enough to take it as a compliment."

They ordered dinner and a bottle of wine.

"What tribe are you?" she asked.

"An eastern tribe."

"Which one?"

"I don't suppose you'd believe I'm the last of the Mohicans?"

"I know the story too well to buy that."

"Ashkenazie."

"That's more like one of the tribes of Israel, isn't it?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Funny, the Internet thinks you're an Indian."

"I never said so to anybody," Eagle said, "but I never contradicted anybody who thought so."

"You're an interesting man, Ed Eagle."

"And you're an interesting woman, Susannah Wilde."

A FEW MILES NORTH OF PUERTO VALLARTA, VlTTORIO spoke up. "Something's wrong," he said.

"What?" Cupie responded. "What's wrong?"

Vittorio pulled over to the shoulder of the road and got out. He looked at the left front wheel, kicked it and screamed, "Goddammit!!!"

Cupie got out. "Flat?"

"Flat." Vittorio opened the trunk.

"Spare?"

"It's here," Vittorio said, freeing the tire and rolling it to the front of the car. "Get the tools, will you?"

Cupie went back to the trunk and returned with a jack and a lug wrench. He knelt down, placed the jack and pumped away, until the tire was nearly free of the road, then he handed the lug wrench to Vittorio. "The rest is yours," he said. He leaned against the car and mopped his brow, then he glanced down the highway. "Uh-oh," he said. "Black Suburban coming."

Vittorio yanked the flat off the car and stood up. "Not again," he moaned. "Get in the car and get her down," he said.

Cupie got back in the car. "Barbara," he said.

She was sitting in the backseat, looking bored.

"I want you to get all the way down on the floor, and right now."

"Shit," she said, but she did it.

Cupie picked up his shotgun, flipped off the safety, then opened the road map and used it to cover the weapon. "All set in here," he said, then pretended to study the map.

Vittorio got the spare on the car and had the lugs finger-tight before the Suburban arrived.

The big, black vehicle slowed, then stopped, and the front passenger window slid down. Same bandito as before. "Buenos dias, senores," he said. "Do you have trouble?"

"Not any more," Vittorio said, tightening the lugs. He stood up and rolled the flat tire to the trunk and tossed it in, then went back for the tools.

"Are you certain you do not require any help?"

Vittorio closed the trunk then went and stood next to the rear door of the car, blocking any view of the backseat. "All done," he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

The rear window of the Suburban slid down a few inches, and this time Vittorio could see the figure in the rear seat. The window slid up again.

"Vaya con Dios, senores," the front passenger said, and the Suburban moved away.

Vittorio got into the car. "The guy in the rear seat was wearing a police uniform," he said. "I have the very strong feeling that we're going to encounter a roadblock before we go too many more miles."

"Make a U-turn," Cupie said. "I saw an interesting sign back there."

Vittorio turned the car around and started back. A mile or so down the road the sign appeared.

EL RANCHO ENCANTADA

Parador

"Let's take a look," Cupie said, and Vittorio turned right. They drove down a single-track dirt road for a couple of miles, encouraged by further signs. As they crested a rise, the Pacific Ocean appeared, perhaps a mile ahead, and they could see a group of low buildings along the beach.

"Looks nice," Cupie said.

Barbara peered over the backseat. "What looks nice?"

Cupie pointed. "There. Now you get back down on the floor. We don't want anybody to see you."

She did as she was told.

Vittorio drove down the hill and pulled into the parking lot of the main building.

"Let me do this," Cupie said. "And, Barbara, you stay down."

Cupie got out and walked into the building. An attractive woman sat at a large leather-topped desk.

"Buenos dias," she said.

"And to you," Cupie replied. "I wonder if you might have a cottage available?"

"For how many people, senor?"

"Two gentlemen, but we'd prefer separate bedrooms.

"And for how long?"

"One night, possibly two."

She consulted a ledger. "Yes, senor, we have such a cottage available." She quoted a price. "Will you need help with your luggage?"

"No, thank you; we're traveling light." He gave her a credit card and filled out the registration form. "How long a drive to Tijuana?"

"Four to six hours," she replied, "depending."

Depending on kidnappers, crooked cops and bandits, no doubt, Cupie thought.

She handed him two keys. "Will you require a table for dinner?"

"Is room service available?"

"Yes, senor."

"I think we might order in. It's been a long day."

"As you wish, senor. Your cottage is number twelve, the southernmost one. I hope you enjoy your stay."

"Thank you." Cupie returned to the car. "Two bedrooms, and they have room service," he said.

"Can I get up now?" Barbara asked.

"In a minute," Cupie said. "It's the last cottage."

Vittorio drove down a short road and stopped. He and Cupie got out, and Cupie used a key to open the front door. He looked up and down the road. "Okay, Barbara, run for it."

She got out of the car and sauntered into the cottage.

"Not bad," Cupie said, walking in. He looked into the two bedrooms, one on either side of the living room. "This one's yours," he said to her. "Vittorio and I will take the room with the twin beds."

"How disappointing for you," she said. "I know you must have been looking forward to sleeping together."

Twenty-eight

Joe Big Bear wrung out the mop and went over the bedroom of his trailer one more time. It had been a mess, what with bits of dried blood, flesh and brains spattered on the walls, but Joe was a stoic, and he cleaned the place thoroughly. He burned the bedding and the mattress behind the trailer and unloaded the new mattress from his pickup truck. Pretty soon, the place was neat and fresh again, ready for new action.

Action was expensive, though, requiring beer money at the very least, and he was very short of money. The cost of the mattress had reduced his net worth considerably, and he hadn't had any work since his arrest. What he needed was an injection of cash into his life, and enough to keep him going while he rebuilt his business. When he thought of money, his mind went unerringly to Harold, the would-be hit man, sitting up there in the county jail. Joe made a mental note to go see him the following morning.

Cupie, Vittorio and Barbara sat around the table in their cottage, over the remains of a feastlike Mexican dinner, drinking tequila shooters. The atmosphere had grown convivial.

"You know," Barbara was saying, her words only slightly slurred, "you two sons of bitches aren't such sons of bitches after all."