Billy Summers

He goes to the edge of the cement walk and scrubs the new gloves in the dirt. When he’s satisfied that they look right, he claps the dust off them and stands up.

‘Cold,’ Alice says. ‘That will be good for you. You can wear the coat.’

Billy knows it will warm up fast once the sun rises. It may be October, but this is the desert. He’ll wear the barn coat anyway.

‘You want something to eat? Egg McMuffin? The Mickey D’s down the road is twenty-four-hour.’

She shakes her head. ‘Not hungry.’

‘Coffee?’

‘Sure, that would be great.’

‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Black, please.’

He goes down to the deserted lobby and gets them each a cup from the eternal motel Bunn. When he comes back, she’s still looking at the moon. ‘It looks close enough to reach out and touch. Isn’t it beautiful?’

‘It is, but you’re shivering. Let’s go inside.’

She sits in his chair by the window and sips her coffee, then sets it on the little table and falls asleep. The sweatshirt is too big and the neck slips to the side, baring one shoulder. Billy thinks it’s at least as beautiful as the moon. He sits and drinks his coffee and watches her. He likes her long slow breaths. The time passes. It’s got a knack for that, Billy thinks.

11

When he wakes her up at seven-thirty she scolds him for letting her sleep. ‘We need to get you sprayed up. That goo takes at least four hours to work.’

‘It’s okay. The game starts at one and I’m not going to move on him until at least one-thirty.’

‘Still, I wish we’d done this an hour ago, just to be safe.’ She sighs. ‘Come in my room. We’ll do it there.’

A few minutes later his shirt is off and he’s rubbing moisturizer over his hands, forearms, and face. She tells him not to neglect his eyelids and the back of his neck. When he’s done, she goes to work with the tanning spray. The first coat takes five minutes. When she’s done, he goes into the bathroom and takes a look. What he sees is a white man with a desert tan.

‘Not good enough,’ he says.

‘I know. Moisturize again.’

She uses the spray a second time. When he goes into the bathroom for another look it’s better, but he’s still not satisfied. ‘I don’t know,’ he tells Alice when he comes out. ‘This might have been a bad idea.’

‘It’s not. Remember what I said? For the next four to six hours, it will continue to darken. With the cowboy hat and the bib overalls …’ She gives him a critical look. ‘If I didn’t think you could pass for Chicano, I’d tell you.’

This is where she asks me again to just give it up and come back to Colorado with her, Billy thinks. But she doesn’t. She tells him to get dressed in what she calls ‘your costume.’ Billy goes back to his room and puts on the dark wig, T-shirt, bib overalls, barn coat (work gloves stuffed in the pockets), and the battered cowboy hat Bucky and Alice bought in Boulder. It comes down to his ears and he reminds himself to raise it up a little when the time comes, to show that long black hair streaked with gray.

‘You look fine.’ All business, red-rimmed eyes notwithstanding. ‘Got your pad and pencil?’

He pats the front pocket of the biballs. It’s capacious, with plenty of room for the silenced Ruger as well as the writing stuff.

‘You’re getting darker already.’ She smiles wanly. ‘Good thing the PC Police aren’t here.’

‘Needs must,’ Billy says. He reaches into the side pocket of the biballs, the one that doesn’t hold the Glock 17, and brings out a roll of bills. It’s everything he has left except for a couple of twenties. ‘Take this. Call it insurance.’

Alice pockets it without argument.

‘If you don’t get a call from me this afternoon, wait. I have no idea what kind of cell coverage they have north of here. If I’m not back by eight tonight, nine at the outside, I’m not coming back. Stay the night, then check out and get a Greyhound to Golden or Estes Park. Call Bucky. He’ll pick you up. All right?’

‘That would not be all right, but I understand. Let me help you carry those bags of fertilizer out to the truck.’

They make two trips and then Billy slams the tailgate. They stand there looking at each other. A few sleepy-eyed people – a couple of salesmen, a family – are toting out their luggage and preparing to move on.

‘If you don’t need to be there until one, you can stay another hour,’ she says. ‘Two, even.’

‘I think I better go now.’

‘Yeah, maybe you better,’ Alice says. ‘Before I break down.’

He hugs her. Alice hugs back fiercely. He expects her to say be careful. He expects her to tell him again not to die. He expects her to ask him one more time, maybe plead with him, not to go. She doesn’t. She looks up at him and says, ‘Get what’s yours.’

She lets go of him and walks back toward the motel. When she gets there, she turns to him and holds up her phone. ‘Call me when you’re done. Don’t forget.’

‘I won’t.’

If I can, he thinks. I will if I can.

CHAPTER 20

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