Part 48 (1/2)

'Don't exhale in here,' Book said.

Big Rick stuck his head out the window and exhaled smoke.

'Aah.'

He pulled his head back inside and a big bag of Cheetos from his backpack. He stuffed Cheetos into his mouth then held the bag out; Book declined, but Carla shrugged and took a handful.

'I do like Cheetos.'

Book shook his head. 'Heck of a team. A law professor, an environmentalist with a grudge, and a stoned artist with a loaded weapon and a bag of Cheetos.'

'And ready to kick some a.s.s,' Big Rick said.

Carla pointed. 'Look.'

The tanker trucks carrying the flow-back fluid began exiting the site. They counted fifty trucks that turned north on 67, the road to the disposal wells in Pecos County. But fifty turned south on 67, the road to- 'Mexico,' Big Rick said.

After the final truck had pa.s.sed, Book started the engine and s.h.i.+fted into gear but did not turn on the lights. He turned south and followed the red taillights. Carla videotaped and narrated. Big Rick smoked pot. Highway 67 turned east and led them through Alpine and toward Marfa. In the distant sky to the south lightning strikes flashed above the mountains. The faint sound of thunder broke the silence of the night.

'Desert storm over Mexico,' Carla said. 'It'll lightning and thunder, but it never rains.'

They pa.s.sed through Alpine; the streets sat vacant.

'Can we stop and get some potato chips?' Big Rick asked.

'No.'

They cleared the town and wound through the Chisos Mountains then descended onto the Marfa Plateau. Eight miles further, just before the Marfa Mystery Lights Viewing Center, the trucks abruptly turned south on an unmarked dirt road that cut through the desert.

Deputy s.h.i.+rley liked to come out to the viewing center late at night when she worked the midnight s.h.i.+ft. The center was an open rock structure with a cement floor and a low rock wall; people gathered at night in hopes of seeing the mystery lights. But not at three-thirty in the morning. That's when she liked to come out; not to watch the mystery lights, but to screw on the low rock wall under the stars. And tonight the distant lightning made the moment even more romantic. She wore her uniform s.h.i.+rt with the Presidio County Sheriff's Department badge and her leather holster, but her uniform trousers lay on the cement floor. She sat bare-bottomed on the wall with her legs up high and spread for the cowboy named Cody; he was working hard and doing a very good job. The night was cool, but her thick white boot socks and Cowboy Cody's body heat kept her toasty. s.h.i.+rley felt the heat building down below, and her body began rumbling- -but not with the throes of an o.r.g.a.s.m. The rumbling came from the line of tanker trucks barreling past not a hundred feet away down the Old Army Air Field Road. Cowboy Cody continued his hard work as she watched the tankers-ten, twenty, thirty ... must be fifty trucks-heading deep into the dark desert. Odd. But then, sculptures made out of crushed cars were pretty odd, too. She turned back to Cody and tried to get her mind and body refocused on the moment before he ran out of gas when another vehicle turned off Highway 67 and headed down the dirt road into the desert. It was a pickup truck, a familiar-looking one, with a driver she recognized in the flash of the next lightning strike: the professor. He was driving with no headlights.

'What the h.e.l.l?'

Cowboy Cody panted hard.

'Sorry. I held it as long as I could.'

'Not you. The trucks.'

Cowboy Cody backed away to police himself-s.h.i.+rley insisted her beaus practice safe s.e.x-and she drew the cell phone from her holster.

Presidio County Sheriff Brady Munn slept peacefully in his bed next to his wife of twenty-seven years. With the kids grown and gone, there were no more sleeps interrupted for bottle duty or diaper duty or chaperone duty; and Presidio County was not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. Consequently, he was startled awake by the ringing phone. He reached out, found the phone, and put the receiver to his ear.

'This better be good.'

'It is.'

s.h.i.+rley.

'What time is it?'

'Three-thirty.'

His niece told him what she had just witnessed out by the viewing center.

'G.o.dd.a.m.n amateurs. They're gonna get themselves killed playing detective. He can't kung fu the cartels. What the h.e.l.l are you doing out there, anyway?'

'Keeping Presidio County safe.'

'Well, put your pants on and get the h.e.l.l back to town.'

She giggled and disconnected. He replaced the receiver and rubbed his face. Relatives. If it was just the tankers, he'd call Border Patrol and let them handle the situation. But Carla and the professor made him sit up and say to his wife, 'Honey, I'm gonna run down to the border,' like many a husband might say he was running to the neighborhood convenience store. She grunted and rolled over.

They drove over old runways.

'They're taking a shortcut through the old Marfa Army Air Field,' Carla said. 'Skirting town, to avoid a curious Border Patrol agent wondering what all these trucks are doing heading toward Mexico in the middle of the night. They'll pick up the highway again south of town.'

Rumbles of thunder rolled over the Marfa Plateau. Book's cell phone rang. He answered.

'Hi. I couldn't sleep. Alone.'

Carmen Castro.

'Uh, Carmen, I'm going to have to call you back. I'm right in the middle of something.'

'Does it involve a woman?'

'It's not quite that dangerous.'

Carmen sighed. 'You said you were coming back.'

'I've been delayed.'

'I've gone to the gun range every night, to get over my s.e.xual frustrations.'

'Well, uh, whatever works.'

'It's getting expensive. I've gone through two thousand rounds of ammo. You want to have phone s.e.x?'

'Uh, not a good time.'

A groan from Carmen. 'Call me.'

Book disconnected.

'Carmen?' Carla said.