Dead and Gone - Andrew Vachss [93]
“May I offer you some water?” Gem asked him.
“Do you always carry water in your luggage?” he asked, an undercurrent of approval in his voice.
“Always.”
“No, thank you,” he said, almost formally. “But if you …”
Gem reached over, unzipped her bag, took out a plastic bottle of water, handed it to me. I took a couple of grateful sips, handed it back. She glugged down about half the bottle.
The Indian’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
“You should see her eat,” I told him.
Then I felt someone behind me.
They entered the clearing in a pincers movement—bracketing Gem and me, standing at an angle so they could watch us and the Indian at the same time. As they came closer, I could see they were both women, dressed exactly alike in padded camo-pattern jumpsuits. They were carrying exactly alike, too: backpack straps over their shoulders … and pump-action shotguns in their hands. The resemblance stopped there. The one closest to Gem was tall, slightly plump, and rosy-cheeked, with her cornsilk-blond hair in twin braids. I named her Heidi, in my mind. The other was a dark-complected, raven-haired Latina, a half-foot shorter than her partner.
“All right?” Heidi asked the Indian.
“He is who he is supposed to be.”
“And her?” the Latina asked, gesturing at Gem with the barrel of her shotgun.
“Wild card,” the Indian said. “He trusts her.”
“Get up,” the Latina told Gem.
I measured the distances with my eyes. The Latina looked quicker, the blonde more solid. I had to get one of them between me and the Indian if—
“Easy!” the Indian warned her off, reading my body language like it was a billboard. “It’s not what you think,” he said to me, his voice calm. “We weren’t expecting her. You know that. Lune trusts you. He doesn’t know her. You vouching for her … Well, no offense, but any man can be fooled.”
“Especially a man,” the Latina said.
“So what we need to do now is to search … Gem,” the Indian continued. “I promise you it will be as dignified as possible. And that, if we find weapons, it will not mean anything. But if we find a transmitter. Or a recording device …”
“I understand,” Gem said, getting slowly to her feet and facing the Latina as if the shotgun was a bureaucratic annoyance.
The Latina turned and started walking off, Gem following. And the blonde following Gem.
It took much longer than I thought it would. I made some no-content conversation with the Indian, forcing myself to not listen for a shotgun’s roar.
When they came back, the shotguns were pointed at the ground. The blonde went over to the Indian, unhooked a canteen from her knapsack, and handed it to him. He took a long drink. And then I understood why he had refused Gem’s offer earlier.
Each of the women took out a padded jumpsuit similar to the ones they were wearing from their knapsacks. The Latina handed one to Gem, the blonde to me.
“Ready to go?” the Indian asked, once we’d climbed into the suits.
“Yes,” I told him.
The blonde picked up my duffel. The Latina took Gem’s little suitcase. I didn’t say a word.
The Indian waved his hand. The dog jumped to its feet and ran over to him.
Then we all started walking.
After a couple of hours, I was grateful the women were carrying all the gear. When the Indian finally held up his hand for us to stop, we were right next to a fence that was mostly concealed by vegetation. He checked his compass, walked to his right along the fence line, and stopped again. He showed us a gap someone had cut in the fence. If he hadn’t shown me, I never would have spotted it.
We followed him through. And started walking again until we came to a sheer-faced rock ledge.
The Indian motioned for us to stay where we were. Then he and the dog moved off until they were out of sight.
The Latina kept checking her watch. Or, at least, looking at some dial she wore on a band around her wrist. I wasn’t near enough to see, and didn’t plan on closing the gap.
Finally, she nodded at the blonde, who stood up and said: “You’ll have to carry your own stuff now. It’s not far. And we have