Magician (13 page)

The stewardess spoke over the P.A., startling me. I realized I’d been staring at the photograph.

“We want to thank you again for choosing our airline. It is now permissible to move around the cabin. Our estimated time in flight is four hours and forty minutes.”

I put the picture away and decided I’d try to get a little rest, too.

* * *

The early winter of Birmingham was far behind us. By contrast, summer had lingered long in Tucson. Tiller and I both gasped as we stepped off the plane.

“Might take a while to get acclimated to this heat,” Tiller rasped.

I only grunted in response. Tiller looked around at the gathering twilight.

“Are we staying in Tucson tonight?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. We’re staying in Douglas, about an hour and a half to the southeast. I made reservations at a hotel there, because it’s closer to the Chiricahua monument. There should be a car waiting on us at the terminal. I’ll drive.”

Tiller went to secure the luggage while I picked up our rental car. It was a blue dodge sedan, but I figured it would do.

“You call that a car?” Tiller jibed when he arrived, puffing, the luggage in tow.
 

I nodded and smiled wryly. “It’s no Buick, that’s for sure.”

A few minutes later we were heading away from the airport.
 

“Highway 191 takes us almost all of the way to Douglas,” Tiller volunteered. “My friend, when we get to Douglas, you can see the blue hills of our dear southern neighbor, Mexico, smoldering in the distance.”

“Sounds nice. Maybe we’ll take a dip in the Rio Grande.”

“Not likely. Anyone swimming in the Rio Grande nowadays is invariably crossing it in a northerly direction. Plus, most of it is on the western side of the border wall. Perhaps the hotel will have a pool.”

I didn’t answer. I had turned south on 191, per Tiller’s instructions, and the storied beauty of the desert evening was already taking hold of me. The sky was the deepest blue I’d ever seen, and the horizon wore a thick band of many shades of red, orange, and yellow.

“Pretty.”

Chapter 15

The drive down in the cool desert was uneventful. I ran the window down and listened for the voices of coyotes; I was disappointed when I heard none. Tiller had brought along a portable reading light and was poring over a paperback history of the area.

“This is all Pima and Chiracahua Country,” he lectured as I drove. A lot of Indian War battles were fought around here. It’s a very historic district. Why, we’ll be close to the Tombstone Courthouse. You know, Tombstone? That’s where the O.K. Corral is. They have reenactments of gunfights there. You want to go have a look?”

When I smiled and didn’t answer, Tiller shrugged. “It was just an idea.
I’m
on vacation, you know.”

The land was mostly flat, but there was a slight rise on the way to Douglas. The town was visible for miles before we arrived. As I was used to the rolling green hills of Birmingham, I found the enormity of the landscape disconcerting.

A medium-sized town, Douglas was remarkably well-manicured for a desert town. A tumbleweed blew across the street in front of our searching headlights, and both of us shared a chuckle.
 

Tiller gestured suddenly. “Hey, there’s a diner. I sure could go for some coffee.”

I pulled into little restaurant’s parking lot. There was only one other vehicle, a battered old truck. We got out of the car and walked up into the diner. When we entered, a little bell over the doorway made a tinkling sound. We were greeted by a woman behind the counter.

“How are you gentlemen this evening?”

A man sat at the end of the counter, the remains of his dinner pushed away from him. He sipped coffee and eyed the two of us warily.

I nodded and gave the woman behind the counter a smile. She was a well-built woman in her early thirties, with strong features and thick black hair tied back in a bun. Her name tag said her name was Lois.
 

“Two coffees, please,“ I said.
 

She poured two cups of strong smelling black coffee. “Sugar and Cream are on the counter. Been driving a while?” She arched an eyebrow my way.

“Not really. Just down from Tucson.”

“That where you’re from?” The expression on her face was coy.

“Guess that you can tell we’re not. We’re from Birmingham.”

“Both you fellows from ‘Bama, huh?”

Tiller sipped his coffee and cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m originally from Byhalia, Mississippi.”

“What brings you two out to these parts?” the man at the end of the counter put in. I turned to face him. He was a weathered-looking man in his late forties, thin and wizened. He had a decidedly neutral air about him.

“I’m trying to find someone. Maybe you’ve seen him. A big man, bald as an egg. Looks kind of like Mr. Clean. Likes to work as a magician, maybe even a clown. You know anyone like that?”

The man looked at him expressionlessly. I thought he wasn’t going to respond, so I turned back to my coffee.

“You must be looking for them folks out at Hanging Gap. That’s where your man would be, if he’s in these parts.”

“How do you figure?” Tiller said, suddenly interested.

“Because your man sounds like a real weirdo, and Hanging Gap’s where the weirdoes in these parts like to congregate.”

“What is this Hanging Gap?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“It’s a place where artists go to work on their projects,” Lois, the ever-helpful waitress, put in. “We’ve had some pretty famous writer types turn up out there. A painter or two, they say, but of course I’m not up on art. But it’s not like that so much any more. It’s mostly the circuses and the carnivals winter out there, now.”

“Sounds good for business,” I said.

“You bet it is. I’ll tell you what, mister, during the tourist season, this place really comes alive. What with the Old West ghost towns and the Indian lands nearby, we see our fair share of tourists.”

“How far to the Chiricahua monument, my dear?” Tiller asked, flashing Lois a big grin.

“Oh, that’s not far from Hanging Gap, maybe seven, eight miles. A lot of the tourists come to see the Indian sites, and stay here in Douglas.”

The wind moaned a little outside. “Well, doesn’t look like there are many in town tonight,” I mused, looking out the big bay windows.

“Sure haven’t seen any big bald clowns,” the guy at the end of the counter said, matter-of-factly.

Chapter 16

It was just like something out of a David Lynch movie, I thought to myself, one of those single story, middle-aged motels along a desert highway. There were no strange characters hanging out in the lobby, however. In fact, the place was mostly vacant. Tiller’s room faced the pool. Mine was a real plum, right next to the ice machine. The relative vacancy of the motel reminded me of the Brooks Building. I was sitting on the edge of the bed when someone knocked on the door.

I got up and went to the door. “Tiller?” There came no answer. I looked through the peephole. There stood an officer from the sheriff’s department, from the look of his brown uniform and cowboy-style hat.

Now what?

I opened the door slowly and made my hands obvious by leaning nonchalantly on the frame.

“Good evening, officer. Can I help you?”

“I hope so. Is your name Roland Longville?” The man was white, lean, in his early forties. His name tag glinted in the lights from the pool.

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Longville, I’m Deputy Cale. Do you mind telling me your business here in Douglas?”

Oh, boy. Not this routine.

I pulled out my ID and handed it over. “I’m investigating the disappearance of a girl from Birmingham a few years ago. I need to question a man who may have seen something. His last contact said he was living out here.”

Deputy Cale’s eyes narrowed. “A girl disappeared? How old was this girl?”

“At the time she went missing? Nine years old.”

“And you’re a private eye, huh?”

“That’s right. The family has engaged me to look into certain facts surrounding her abduction.”

Cale handed him back my I.D. “Is there anyone here in Douglas with you?”

“I’m working with the Birmingham detective who last handled the case. He’s in room 13.”

“And that’s Mr. Tiller?”

“That’s right.”

“Would you mind telling me if you fellows are armed?”

“I can tell you that I’m not.”

“Mind if I have a look in your room?”

I stepped out of the man’s way.

“Sure, go right ahead.”

But Cale did not move. “That’s okay, for now. Well, Mr. Longville, in the future when you come to Douglas to conduct an investigation, you need to notify the Sheriff’s Office, so we know you’re operating in the area. Now have a good night.”

The officer turned and walked away without another word.

Now what was that all about?

The phone rang and I went over and picked it up.

“Is your new friend gone?” Tiller asked.

“He just left.”

“The stupid bastard came here first. Asked me if I was in charge of this investigation. Told me I should have registered with him when I got to town. What the hell kind of police do they have around here?”

“Easy, you sound like some of the guys I used to pull over back in Birmingham. No use getting mad at the guy; he’s just doing his job. It’s just the way they want things done here, Tiller.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I think the guy’s going to make himself a nuisance.”

“We won’t be around long enough. Anyway, he won’t be back tonight. He said his piece. Now I’m going to get some rest, and I suggest you do the same.”

I hung up, and lay down on the bed, atop the sheets. Despite what I had said, I essentially agreed with Tiller. I don’t want some bothersome deputy, however well-meaning, coming between me and Samson Fain. I had no concrete case against Fain, yet. If he was tipped off in some way, he could easily vanish again, this time forever.

Are you nearby, Samson? It feels like it.

Tomorrow, we would get an early start, and try to get a lead on Fain’s whereabouts. Or, if he had departed the area, try to find where he had gone. I closed my eyes and was soon sound asleep. My dreams were surreal, filled with images of clowns, the desert, and children standing in icy rain.

Chapter 17

Tiller had the car gassed and was waiting, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, when I emerged from my room the next morning. The sunshine was glorious; it seemed years since I had felt such warmth. I got into the car without a word while Tiller started the engine, then pulled onto the highway.

“What’s the matter, you grumpy in the mornings?” Tiller jibed at me good-naturedly.

“Just thinking. I’m wondering whether our friend Fain would stick around here, in a larger town like Douglas. There is more anonymity in a bigger town. Or, would he have eased up north, to Hanging Gap, the alternative hideout, where people accept drifters and oddballs, and maybe ask fewer questions.”

“You think he might have moved on?”

“Maybe. It’s foolish not to consider the idea. I was thinking, after that deputy came by last night, if he had asked Fain those same types of questions, it might have spooked him enough to keep him moving. I mean, why would he choose this place to hide out in, anyway?”

“He’s not hiding, because nobody’s looking, remember? Still, it might have been a waypoint. Maybe he just stayed here a while, then pushed on into Mexico.”

“I wish I knew what attracted him to this part of the world. No family here, and he’d made no prior trips to Arizona. Maybe we can find a lead at this artist commune.”

We headed north on 80 to Hanging Gap. Tiller had usurped the wheel this morning, but he wasn’t breaking any speed records. The distance to Hanging Gap was about forty miles, and I passed the time looking through the window at the barren landscape.

Christ, drive a little faster, Tiller.

My own irritation made me smile.

Maybe I am grumpy in the morning.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to dismiss the lingering effects of a night disturbed by too many dreams.

“You look like you could use some cheering up,” Tiller volunteered. “Want to hear a joke?”

I sighed. “Why not.”

Tiller cleared his throat in obvious delight.

“A cop sees a man driving down the road with twenty penguins jumping around in the back seat. The cop decides to stop him. The guy says, ‘Hey, why did you stop me?’ And the cop tells him that he can’t just drive around with twenty penguins in the car, and that he should take them to the zoo. The man says, ‘okay,’ and drives off. The next day, the cop sees the same guy, driving down the road with the twenty penguins in the back seat again. So he pulls the guy over and says, ‘Hey, buddy, I told you to take these penguins to the zoo!’ The guy says, ‘Yeah, I did. They liked it so much, today I’m taking them to the movies.’”