Desert Noir (9781615952236) (36 page)

“Gus…Gus hated women,” Evan said, his voice made raspy by heat and dehydration. “I think he'd have killed Clarice for free, but…but the money I offered made him even more enthusiastic.” 

He'd told Gus to kill Clarice with one quick blow from the tire iron first, then beat her about the face so that it would look like she'd suffered another battering from Jay. There was no point in telling Evan that Gus hadn't exactly followed orders, that he'd slowly, lovingly, beaten Clarice half to death with his fists.

“Did you tell Gus to unlock the front door?” I asked.

Evan smiled. “I had to make s-sure her b-body would be discovered while I was…I was at dinner with Malik.” 

I'd been right there, too.

Evan wasn't done with his confession.

“The p-problem was…Gus was too nuts to trust. I knew I'd have to eventually get rid of him. I…I paid him fifty percent of his fee before he killed her and told him I'd pay the rest later.” Here he smiled again. “He was as stupid as he was nuts. When I said I'd deliver the p-payoff in the desert outside of town, he didn't think twice. He…he was right on time. I paid him off, all…all right.” 

He'd talked too long and his voice began to fade. I gave him another sip of cactus juice and he rallied. Closing his eyes against the day's glare, he added, “I… I knew you were trouble the m-minute I saw you.” 

I remembered, then, his recognition of me the day I'd visited him at the construction site.
I recognize you from that time you were on TV. You'd proved some guy on Death Row was innocent.

There was one more thing I needed to know before he passed out again, one more crime to lay at the feet of the Hyaths. When I asked him about it he nodded weakly.

Then he drifted back into unconsciousness.

I spent the rest of the day fanning poor Evan and staring out at the desert from the shelter of the lean-to, watching more dust devils suck up tumbleweeds and send them whirling into the air. The temperature continued to climb, and when the wind finally died down, I thought I could actually hear the heat sizzling up from the desert floor.

Succumbing to the stupor of the heat-stunned, I'd almost begun to doze off when I heard Evan's breathing change. Wide awake now I scrambled towards him, and he opened his eyes. The pupil in his left eye was totally dilated and a large pool of blood had collected under his left ear. His face was so swollen he looked like Alison Garwood the last time I'd seen her.

And I'd done that to him.

“Evan?” I whispered, cradling his head in my lap. “Don't worry. I'm here with you.”

He smiled the guileless smile of a child and I knew he didn't recognize me. “Clarice? Clarice, honey, is that you?” 

“Sure it's me,” I said, lowering my voice so I'd sound more like her and stroking his hair while his ear bled onto my thighs.

“I'm sorry Clarice. I was wrong to hurt you. It was just that… It was just that without the money, no woman would ever love me again.” I leaned over him and put my lips to his ears. Still trying to sound like his sister, I said, “It's all right, Evan. I forgive you.” Evan turned his head, brushed his lips against my palm, and died.

Who knows when spirits leave their bodies? The Navajo believe they leave right away, sometimes hanging around the earth, though, to make trouble for the living. I didn't know what the Pima believed about death. If I lived through this, I'd ask Jimmy. Whatever the truth was, I wanted to make sure I'd covered all the bases for Evan. I let his head remain in my lap for a while and stroked his hair, murmuring, “There, there, Evan. There, there.” 

Eventually, though, I had to move him. I couldn't continue sharing the lean-to with a dead man. Not in this heat.

I looked over at the Infiniti, about twenty feet away. At the trunk, the opening of which was about three feet off the ground, at least. That solution was hopeless. So, whispering my own apology, I dragged Evan out as far into the desert as my failing strength would allow. But it wasn't far enough.

The buzzards found him just before sunset.

They circled down from the sky like pieces of black confetti. As one alighted, it looked back at me through glittering black eyes, reminding me of Eleanor Hyath. Repulsed, I turned my head away from their red eyes, their scabrous necks. They enjoyed Evan very much. They squawked and cawed over him, fought over the tastiest morsels.

Even covering my ears didn't keep out their happy chatter.

When twilight fell and the heat began to wane, I returned to the Infiniti, carefully keeping my eyes averted from the action in the brush. In addition to the buzzards, a few thousand blowflies were having themselves a high old time with Evan, but I tried to ignore them, along with the odor that wafted not-so-sweetly from their juicy banquet. I jumped on top of the car's hood again and looked around, hoping to see lights of any kind—cars, houses, maybe even lights from the Palo Verde Nuclear Plant, which had to be somewhere close by. But I saw nothing. The desert was devoured by shadows.

I jumped off the hood, opened it again, and smeared as much dirt-encrusted engine oil as I could onto one of Evan's socks. I closed the hood, and using the sock as a makeshift paintbrush, wrote
S-O-S
in letters so large they took up the entire hood. Even in the gloom, they stood out well on the Infiniti's metallic gold surface.

As a breeze started down from the mountains, I checked my hand-made water processing plant and found almost a half-pint of fresh water. Thanking the Baptists, I drank it down, not even minding the slightly plastic flavor. Now refreshed, I dug another hole and deposited the windshield-washing fluid container for my cup.

I made another visit to the cactus patch and this time used a curved hubcap as a water bowl. Then I took a piss, a good sign because it meant that my body was still a long way from dehydration.

My needs satisfied, I went back to the car and scraped Evan's clothing into a soft pillow. Then I slit the duffel bag down the side and lay down in the back seat, grateful for the soft, cushiony leather. Sleep crept up on me and I felt my eyes begin to close. Although the car's windows remained half-open (I had to be able to hear help if it arrived), I hardly noticed the hot, dry wind that swept down from the mountains. I was as snug as a bug in a rug.

I woke up during the night and stared at the mercilessly clear sky. Where was the monsoon when you needed it? At some point while I'd been dozing, the coyotes had found Evan. I could hear ripping sounds, along with a rubbery flopping as if something large was being repeatedly picked up and dropped.

Shuddering, I tried to sleep.

Awake before the sun even hinted at its presence, I checked both of my little water processing plants and was gratified to find two more half-filled containers of water. I drank them both down and then, with another of Evan's socks wrapped around my hand for protection, picked up the tool kit. I tried not to look in Evan's direction.

I chose a crescent wrench from the tool kit and slid under the car. My fumbling hands soon found the radiator release screw. After some grunting and knuckle-rapping, I managed to get it unscrewed and rusty water splattered down into my two plastic containers. As soon as they were full, I pressed the screw up to the radiator again, tightened it, and stopped the flow. Then I went back to my home-made wells and saturated the buffalo grass again, secure in the knowledge that I'd be able to harvest more water by noon.

I decided to wait until dawn before I attacked another barrel cactus. Directions and distances could be treacherous in the dark, and I didn't want to risk losing my bearings. Instead, I returned to the Infiniti and began hitting short taps on the horn every fifteen seconds. The sound carried well over the flat desert and hopefully would annoy some bad-tempered rancher who'd drive his truck over to complain that I'd interrupted his sleep.

At first, the noise chased the buzzards and coyotes away, but after they realized it held no threat, they returned and the ripping sounds began again.

I made myself think of Dusty's eyes. Jimmy's friendship.

I thought about the scar on my forehead and how much I had already survived. If my mother hadn't been able to kill me, how could the desert?

Then I remembered my moments of despair at Rocky Point, the temptation to swim out to sea and never return.

As a mockingbird began to trill the morning, what could possibly be my last morning, I at last realized how much I wanted to live.

The sun rose over the White Tanks, only hinting at its later excesses. The Infiniti's battery was a good one, and it was still going strong when the heat drove me out of the car. Before I took shelter again under my lean-to, I attacked another barrel cactus.

How long could I survive like this? My slim water rations wouldn't keep me alive forever. And I was beginning to experience symptoms that could indicate heat stroke—lightheadedness, clammy skin, stomach cramps. I had to stop moving and start resting.

So I curled up with the Tom Clancy novel and read about a submarine rushing through Arctic waters while the predators ravaged Evan's corpse in the hot sun. The irony was not lost on me. From time to time, I dabbed precious cactus juice on my face and fanned myself with a piece of cardboard. It didn't help all that much.

How long could I hold out?

I dozed on and off all day, emerging from my shelter only when the sun went down to harvest water and to savage another cactus. I noticed, now, that I had to hit the cactus several times before I could puncture its skin.

Either the cactus was getting tougher or I was getting weaker.

I spent the night in the Infiniti, staring out the windows and thinking about death.