Part 40 (1/2)

Big Rick's expression said he was holding aces. He made Book wait for it.

'Billy Bob Barnett is a c.o.kehead.'

Big Rick seemed pleased with himself. That or he really loved Spam.

'How do you know?'

'Let's just say I have it from a reliable source. That head cold, he's had it for two years now.' He took another big bite of the Spam. 'Public company, his board might not be so keen on having a c.o.kehead for a CEO.'

'Even if you got him fired, that wouldn't stop the fracking or the condemnation lawsuits.'

'True. But at least I wouldn't have to see his fat a.s.s at Maiya's every time I go there to drink and eat.'

'Kenni says you have guns.'

Big Rick shrugged, as if feigning modesty.

'Just a few.'

He stepped over and opened a walk-in closet that housed not clothes but weapons. A lot of weapons mounted on both walls. And military gear-flak jackets, meals-ready-to-eat, night-vision goggles ...

'I like to shoot s.h.i.+t at night.' He pointed out his collection as if he were pointing out fine art in a museum. 'Forty-four Magnum, nine-millimeter Glock, AK-Forty-Seven, sniper's rifle, shotgun ...'

'What gauge?'

'Twelve.'

'That's a coincidence.'

'What's that?'

'Someone shot out my window at the Paisano Thursday night with a twelve-gauge shotgun.'

'I never heard of you until five minutes ago when you rang my bell.'

'There was an article in the newspaper.'

'Which I don't read.'

'I was on Marfa Public Radio.'

'Which I don't listen to.'

'So why all the guns?'

'An avant-garde artist with an a.r.s.enal makes for good copy back East. And I love to go out to my land and shoot the s.h.i.+t out of everything.'

'Why do you hate Bush?'

'What? Oh, the ”Bush Sucks” installation. Just part of the image. You want a New York art dealer to sell your stuff, you gotta loathe Bush and vote Obama. Hating Bush is always a big part of any art crowd conversation. But I voted for him. Both times.'

'Kenni said you painted an ”Axis of Evil” sign on a building in town.'

'Nah. Everyone blamed it on me, but that was an a.s.shole from Iceland.'

'Big Rick ... is there any part of you that's real?'

'Everything you see is real, Professor. Everything you read is myth. About me, about the other artists, about Marfa ... it's all just a myth. A myth that sells.'

'Is everyone in Marfa on the make?'

'Everyone except the cowboys.'

'Get in, podna.'

Book was walking back to the Paisano when the sheriff pulled alongside in his cruiser. He spat brown tobacco juice out his window. Book got in.

'You kinda stubborn, ain't you?'

'I'm kind of mad.'

'Often the last words before someone ends up in my jail.'

'I went to see Billy Bob.'

'I take it that was a less than cordial meeting, too?'

'It was.'

'He didn't confess?'

'He did not.'

'I hate it when that happens.'

'Nathan Jones was gay.'

The sheriff hit the brakes. He slowly turned to Book. He grunted.

'You want to get a cup of coffee?'

Tumbleweeds on Austin Street one block west of Highland Avenue offers washers and dryers by the load and a walk-through to Frama's, which offers home-brewed coffee and Blue Bell ice cream. They walked in just as the mayor of Marfa walked out with a big ice cream cone.

'Heard about your gal, Professor. She gonna be okay?'

'Yes. Thanks for ask-'