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r。 he handed the flashlight to the driver and leaned back in the seat。 lets go； he said。
whats in there； the driver said。
money。
money？
money。
the driver started the engine and pulled out onto the road。
turn the lights on； moss said。
he turned the lights on。
how much money？
a lot of money。 what will you take to drive me to san antonio。
the driver thought about it。 you mean on top of the five hundred。
yes。
how about a grand all in。
everthing。
yes。
you got it。
the driver nodded。 then how about the other half of these five caesars i already got。
moss took the bills from his pocket and handed them across the back of the seat。
what if the migra stop us。
they wont stop us； moss said。
how do you know？
theres too much shit still down the road that i got to deal with。 it aint goin to end here。
i hope youre right。
trust me； moss said。
i hate hearin them words； the driver said。 i always did。
have you ever said them？
yeah。 ive said em。 thats how e i know what theyre worth。
he spent the night in a rodeway inn on highway 90 just west of town and in the morning he went down and got a paper and climbed laboriously back to his room。 he couldnt buy a gun from a dealer because he had no identification but he could buy one out of the paper and he did。 a tec…9 with two extra magazines and a box and a half of shells。 the man delivered the gun to his door and he paid him in cash。 he turned the piece in his hand。 it had a greenish parkerized finish。 semiautomatic。 when was the last time you fired it？ he said。
i aint never fired it。
are you sure it fires？
why would it not？
i dont know。
well i dont either。
after he left moss walked out onto the prairie behind the motel with one of the motel pillows under his arm and he wrapped the pillow about the muzzle of the gun and fired off three rounds and then stood there in the cold sunlight watching the feathers drift across the gray chaparral； thinking about his life； what was past and what was to e。
then he turned and walked slowly back to the motel leaving the burnt pillow on the ground。
he rested in the lobby and then climbed up to the room again。 he bathed in the tub and looked at the exit hole in his lower back in the bathroom mirror。 it looked pretty ugly。
there were drains in both holes that he wanted to pull out but he didnt。 he pulled loose the plaster on his arm and looked at the deep furrow the bullet had cut there and then taped the dressing back again。 he dressed and put some more of the bills into the back pocket of his jeans and he fitted the pistol and the magazines into the case and closed it and called a cab and picked up the document case and went out and down the stairs。
he bought a 1978 ford pickup with four wheel drive and a 460 engine from a lot on north broadway and paid the man in cash and got the title notarized in the office and put the title in the glovebox and drove away。 he drove back to the motel and checked out and left； the tec…9 under the seat and the document case and his bag of clothes sitting in the floor on the passenger side of the truck。
at the onramp at boerne there was a girl hitchhiking and moss pulled over and blew the horn and watched her in the rearview mirror。 running； her blue nylon knapsack slung over one shoulder。 she climbed in the truck and looked at him。 fifteen； sixteen。 red hair。 how far are you goin？ she said。
can you drive？
yeah。 i can drive。 it aint no stick shift is it？
no。 get out and e around。
she left her knapsack on the seat and got out of the truck and crossed in front of it。
moss pushed the knapsack into the floor and eased himself across and she got in and put the truck in drive and they pulled out onto the interstate。
how old are you？
eighteen。
bullshit。 what are you doin out here？ dont you know its dangerous to hitchhike？
yeah。 i know it。
he took off his hat and put it on the seat beside him and leaned back and closed his eyes。
dont go over the speed limit； he said。 you get us stopped by the cops and you and me both will be in a shitpot full of trouble。
all right。
im serious。 you go over the speed limit and ill set your ass out by the side of the road。
all right。
he tried to sleep but he couldnt。 he was in a lot of pain。 after a while he sat up and got his hat off the seat and put it on and looked over at the speedometer。
can i ask you somethin？ she said。
you can ask。
are you runnin from the law？
moss eased himself in the seat and looked at her and looked out at the highway。 what makes you ask that？
on account of what you said back yonder。 about bein stopped by the police。
what if i was？
then i think i ought to just get out up here。
you dont think that。 you just want to know where you stand。
she looked at him out of the corner of her eye。 moss studied the passing country。 if you spent three days with me； he said； i could have you holdin up gas stations。 be no trick at all。
she gave him a funny little half smile。 is that what you do？ she said。 hold up gas stations？
no。 i dont have to。 are you hungry？
im all right。
when did you eat last。
i dont like for people to start askin me when i eat last。
all right。 when did you eat last？
i knowed you was a smart…ass from the time i got in the truck。
yeah。 pull off up here at this next exit。 its supposed to be four miles。 and reach me that machinegun from under the seat。
bell drove slowly across the cattleguard and got out and closed the gate and got back in the truck and drove across the pasture and parked at the well and got out and walked over to the tank。 he put his hand in the water and raised a palmful and let it spill again。
he took off his hat and passed his wet hand through his hair and looked up at the windmill。 he looked out at the slow dark elliptic of the blades turning in the dry and windbent grass。 a low wooden trundling under his feet。 then he just stood there paying the brim of his hat slowly through his fingers。 the posture of a man perhaps who has just buried something。 i dont know a damn thing； he said。
when he got home she had supper waiting。 he dropped the keys to the pickup in the kitchen drawer and went to the sink to wash his hands。 his wife laid a piece of paper on the counter and he stood looking at it。
did she say where she was？ this is a west texas number。
she just said it was carla jean and give the number。
he went to the sideboard and called。 she and her grandmother were in a motel outside of el paso。 i need for you to tell me somethin； she said。
all right。
is your word good？
yes it is。
even to me？
id say especially to you。
he could hear her breathing in the receiver。 traffic in the distance。
sheriff？
yes mam。
if i tell you where he called from do you give your word that no harm will e to him。
i can give my word that no harm will e to him from me。 i can do that。
after a while she said： okay。
the man sitting at the little plywood table that folded up from the wall onto a hinged leg finished writing on the pad of paper and took off the headset and laid it on the table in front of him and passed both hands backwards over the sides of his black hair。 he turned and looked toward the rear of the trailer where the second man was stretched out on the bed。 listo？ he said。
the man sat up and swung his legs to the floor。 he sat there for a minute and then he rose and came forward。
you got it？
i got it。
he tore the sheet off the pad and handed it to him and he read it and folded it and put it into his shirtpocket。 then he reached up and opened one of the kitchen cabinets and took out a camouflage…finished submachinegun and a pair of spare clips and pushed open the door and stepped down into the lot and shut the door behind him。 he crossed the gravel to where a black plymouth barracuda was parked and opened the door and pitched the machinegun in on the far seat and lowered himself in and shut the door and started the engine。 he blipped the throttle a couple of times and then pulled out onto the blacktop and turned on the lights and shifted into second gear and went up the r