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Chapters (42)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. Acknowledgments
  40. Discover More
  41. About the Author
  42. Also by Richard Lange

Bob climbs out of the back of the Dart and opens the front door. He pushes McMullin over and slips behind the wheel. The keys are in the ignition. Two flashes of the car’s brake lights bring Bob 1 running. He’s carrying a duffel bag.

“Get him?” he says.

“What’s it look like?”

Bob 1 dives into the back seat. Bob 2 hangs the speaker on the post and makes for the exit, leaving the Hornet behind. He takes it slow, but McMullin’s head still bounces off the passenger window a few times. When they’re in the clear, Bob 1 leans over the seat to look at the body.

“It go easy?” he says.

“I hit him like an A-bomb,” Bob 2 says.

“Boom.”

“Boom.”

They pull over on an empty stretch of road outside town. Saguaros stand out against the starry sky, and jagged black hills disrupt the horizon. Bob 2 drags McMullin’s body out of the Dart and drops it on its back. Bob 1 unzips the duffel bag and takes out a Polaroid camera. He snaps a couple of photos as proof for Moore (click, whirr, click, whirr)—McMullin’s face, a tattoo on his forearm—then goes back into the bag for a hatchet.

“You want me to dust him?” he says.

“My hit,” Bob 2 says. “I’ll do it.”

He grabs McMullin’s hair and lifts his head. Bob 1 passes him the hatchet, and he raises it high and brings it down on McMullin’s neck. Flesh splits and bone crunches. The guy’s head comes off so suddenly after only three whacks that Bob nearly loses his balance. He drops the head, and he and Bob 1 watch it and McMullin’s body disintegrate into gray powder, leaving only his clothes.

Bob 1 goes through the pockets of the pants, removing a wallet and motel key. The shirt yields a pack of chewing gum. The wind gusts and carries away most of the ash. Bob tosses the shirt high in the air, and it sails flapping across the desert, all the ghost McMullin will have.

“You want his shoes?” Bob 1 says.

“You ever see me wear sneakers?” Bob 2 replies.

They drive into town, abandon the Dart in a shopping mall parking lot, and ride their Harleys back to the Apache.

9

9

E​DGAR SWAYS AND GRUNTS AND JABS AT THE FLIPPER BUTTONS on a pinball machine. Jesse’s at the bar. They’ve returned to the bowling alley after Jesse lay awake all day, buffeted by a flood of memories triggered by meeting Johona, memories he thought were lost to him for good.

There Claudine was, humming French songs in the moonlight; there she was sipping champagne in a San Francisco hotel, New Year’s Eve 1902; there she was, the shine of her hair, the swish of her skirts, the seaside rhythm of her breath in sleep.