“And really,” Dalinda said, “I’m going to get you a radio. I’m the worst mentor.”
“No, you’re amazing,” Sophia said. On the way out, she asked if Dalinda wanted the door open or closed.
“Closed,” she said. “All the way, please.”
___
The Ashdown brothers barreled down the winding double lanes of the Virgin River Highway. The steep gray stone walls of the gorge shot skyward as they descended. Lonnie watched for the open spaces that would momentarily reveal terraces of Joshua trees receding into the sunlit alcoves. The view would open for a second, then disappear.
As they dropped in elevation, the air temperature rose. Lonnie tested it by laying the back of his hand against the windshield. It was still desert here but completely unlike their home in Cane Beds. They rode together in silence with the stereo off and Byron hunched over the wheel, his jaw clenching and releasing without pattern. When Lonnie reached for the radio knob, Byron slapped his hand without looking.
“It’s a long time to have zero music,” Lonnie said.
“I need quiet. I’m thinking,” Byron answered.
“About what?”
Byron turned his head and glowered at him. Lonnie got nervous and pointed to the road ahead of them, which was curving. When the rumble strip buzzed, Byron turned his attention back to the road without speaking. After a spell, he said, “I’m thinking about what that girl’s gonna say.”
“She didn’t know what we were doing.”
“But she’ll probably say something, right? You know, since she works for the Feds.”
“Nobody will find us because we’re not there anymore.”
They both squinted as the sun broke through the mouth of the canyon and they shot out into the open desert. The light was blinding on the open plain, which ran unobstructed to the dark hulking mountains at the horizon. Byron pulled a pair of cheap orange-and-black sunglasses from the visor. Lonnie lowered his visor and tested the heat again.
“At least we got the maps, and you put them in something for protection,” Lonnie said, reaching his hand back to knock on a cardboard tube sitting in the gun rack. “And they work. I mean, we found a couple pots without really trying. That’s something. Plus the money we’re gonna get from this guy. I’m just worried about what happened to that old man.”
“Yep, the maps worked. That’s what I was trying to figure out.” Byron shook his head. Three birds followed each other through the air in front of the truck and disappeared through the raised arms of a Joshua tree. “What happened to the old guy is why we need more money now. We’re gonna have to lay low. We’d be okay if we were just trading this stuff for cash, because it was supposed to be break and enter, take the maps, steal some other household things, couple of pots, a rug, get out, and nobody knows nothing. Now there’s a dead guy and we didn’t negotiate for that. How long you think it’s gonna be before somebody figures out none of it is what it looks like?”
“I don’t know. Couple of weeks?” Lonnie said.
“You really don’t get it? What that guy had us do was just to slow them down. Once they start doing the science on us, we’re screwed.”
“DNA?” Lonnie asked.
“DNA, chemistry, microscopes, you name it. They’re going to figure it out, so if you quit talking to me for a minute, maybe I can think.”
“So, no radio, then?”
Byron hit the brakes and yanked the truck over to the side of the road. A minivan behind them blared its horn and swerved around the truck. Byron gripped the wheel and stared straight ahead, snorting and sucking air through his nose like a bull.
“You want me to get out and walk?” Lonnie asked.
“Walk to where?” Byron yelled back.
“I don’t know, you pulled over, just like Mom.”
“You realize we’re not playing a video game, right? You know there’s no reset button on this thing.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Braining that guy is pretty much the definition of stupid.”
“I know it. But saying the word ‘stupid’ doesn’t help.”
“Jail is full of morons, Lonnie. Overflowing with them.”
“Doing something stupid is not the same thing as being stupid. Remember, I said if they put you back in jail I’d be alone again. Dad’s gone. So is Mom. So. I had to do something. If we got caught, okay. Then maybe I could just go back there with you.”
Byron looked across the interstate at the abandoned two-story house and the cluster of mobile homes that squatted behind it. “Alone is better than that place, little brother.” He rolled down the window, spat once, then rolled the window back up.
“I take it back, then,” Lonnie said.
“Well, you can’t.”
“Not what I did, just what I meant by it.” Lonnie turned toward the window. “Maybe jail is a good place for you.”
Byron checked his mirror. He waited for a semi to pass, then he lurched back onto the road. After they got up to eighty, Lonnie reached for the radio. Byron didn’t stop him. They drove that way, listening to classic rock, for another fifteen minutes, then they exited the freeway on the south end of town and parked in the CasaBlanca Casino, where they were supposed to meet the guy who would take the maps and pay them off.
“We’re early,” Lonnie said.
“Early is on time.” Byron fished a small spearmint tin out of his pocket and twisted off the lid. He leaned over and opened the glove box and took out a banged-up empty ballpoint pen barrel.
“Oh, man,” Lonnie said. “Do you have to?”
“Don’t want to hear it.”
“Meth makes you crazy.”
Byron stuck the pen down into the tin and snorted quickly, rubbing the side of his nose with a knuckle. He did it again on the other side, stuck the empty pen into his shirt pocket, and closed up the tin. “Let’s do it,” Byron said, sniffing rapidly.
“He ain’t gonna be here for, like, an hour.”
“Early bird gets the worm.”
“Maybe.” Lonnie said. “But the second mouse gets the cheese.”
Byron laughed, then let it decay to a frown. Lonnie knew his brother was starting to feel okay, but he also knew that feeling would change into something horrible.
“Second mouse. That’s a good one,” Byron said.
“It’s not me. Some guy had it on a T-shirt,” Lonnie said.
They got out of the truck and looked around. Byron carried the cardboard tube with the maps. Lonnie walked along, with his hands in his front pockets. There was no sidewalk, so they headed through the heat toward the front doors. As they drew closer, they heard the patter of a waterfall that marked the end of the covered valet parking zone. The whole area was blooming with bright red flowers and surrounded by dwarf palm trees. A dry wind blew through the brittle fronds. Lonnie reached over and pulled off some flower petals to see if they were real. He cupped them in his hand and sniffed. They smelled like his mother’s perfume.
They went in through the sliding doors and were accosted by the clamor. Instantly, they were hit with the smell of cigarettes and air conditioning, and they were overwhelmed by the sheer number of slot machines, each one playing its own repetitive melody that gathered into a flapping, clicking, boinging sonic wave. Lonnie thought it sounded like a gigantic toy orchestra tuning in a great, infinite loop, but he kept that idea to himself because his brother wouldn’t understand it.