"Okay."
Zamorra had already turned away and was heading back up the walk.
He sat out by the pool and watched the sun go down. He brought the telephone with him and talked to Priscilla when she called. His father and mother called too, frantic with concern, but Archie told them he was fine for now, well protected, please come over for lunch tomorrow.
A few minutes later he got Trent Gentry's number from his personal phone book and punched it in.
"Shit, man," said Trent, "I've been thinking about you every second. I'm so goddamned sorry about what happened. I just… I ju
… Can I call you back?"
Archie said okay, gave him the number.
A few minutes later Trent was on the line again. Archie heard traffic in the background.
"So, man," said Trent, "what can I do, Archie? I really feel bad about all this."
"Does it have to do with OrganiVen?"
"How could it?"
"I was just wondering. OrganiVen keeps coming into my mind. As something that was good for us, and bad for us at the same time."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know what I mean. I'm hazy on things."
"Stay hazy, man. Just stay hazy, be careful and take care of yourself."
Archie thought about this. "Okay," he said.
"I'm going to Hawaii tomorrow. Be back in a couple of weeks. I'll call you then."
"What about one of the OrganiVen guys, on the business side? I think I should talk to one of them. It's just a feeling."
"Well, fuck, Arch, they're back in Switzerland by now for all I know. I mean, I don't know those people. Or they're out on some yacht off of Greece. They weren't OrganiVen guys anyway-they were just investors."
"The car."
"What car?"
"The car they came to that meeting in. It looked normal but it wasn't. God, I wish I could remember."
"Man, you're talking nonsense to me now."
"Sorry."
"Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?"
Archie had vague memories of Gwen meeting two men one night in a bar in Newport Beach. Long ago. A year? Maybe more? She had asked Archie to be there without the men knowing it. Because she was uneasy, uncertain how they would react. React to what? He searched his memory for an answer but it was like trying to get water from an empty bucket. Still, he remembered sitting across the room dressed like a beach bum and looking at the three of them occasionally from behind a pair of sunglasses. One man was blond and clean-shaven. The other was dark-haired, with a beard and mustache, one of the biggest people Archie had ever seen in his life. His head was enormous. Archie could remember being afraid for Gwen, just her being that close to him.
Gentry hung up.
Archie called Merci Rayborn's cell number and told her that he had just remembered Gwen being upset by a man with a monstrous head.
"Explain," she snapped.
He did-maybe something to do with OrganiVen, a meeting in a Newport bar, Gwen asking him to be there without them knowing.
"Monstrous?" she asked.
"Very. Dark hair, and a beard."
"Big enough to recline a Cadillac seat just to get in or out?"
"I don't know. Along those lines, I would say."
"What else?"
"The car they came in. Something about it was different. But I can't remember what."
"Make and model?"
"I can't remember."
"American or foreign?"
"Large, that's all I see."
"The way it looked? Sounded? A custom paint job or body work. A sign, a bumper sticker?"
"I'm sorry. Just that it was different than other cars." A silence.
"Archie, I'm going to come by and take you back to the hospital. Right now."
"I won't go."
"I'll call paramedics for you, if you'd be more comfortable that way."
"I won't go."
A long silence over a clear connection.
"Archie, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. The deputies are still out front."
"They'll be there all night."
"I'm not afraid."
"I wish you were."
Archie sat and stared at the lights twinkling in the hills before him. He had no appetite. When the night breeze came up it was cool and clean off the desert so he went into the house to put away the phone and get some blankets.
The phone rang just as he was putting it into the charger.
"Hello, Deputy Wildcraft?"
"Yes."
"This is Gary Brice, Orange County Journal. How are you feeling?"
"All right."
"How about we do an interview tonight? I can be there in less than half an hour."
"No. I'm tired."
"I can sure see why. How come you checked out of the hospitals?"
"I felt better."
"Were the police putting pressure on you?"
"They questioned me about what happened."
"What did you tell them? What did happen, Deputy Wildcraft?"
"I won't talk now. I need some privacy and time to think."
Archie punched off. The phone rang again immediately-then off and on until he fell asleep hours later-but he didn't answer it.
From the kitchen window he could see part of his driveway and the two black-and-whites still blocking it. Good, he thought: safe for now. He got a gun, too, a Remington composite-stock twelve-gauge automatic cut down at both ends, with the magazine plug removed to hold all five rounds. He checked to see it was loaded and safed.
He went back out and set the shotgun on the pool deck, then lay down on the chaise lounge, pulling the blankets over him. He saw a falling star, then another, then more. He remembered, as a boy, counting one hundred and nineteen of them one September night while lying in his backyard on a sleeping bag.
Archie listened to the palm fronds hiss in the breeze.
I'll remember, he thought. And tell Detective Rayborn everything and she'll arrest whoever did this and it will make no difference at all.
I'll remember you, he thought. Someday I will remember everything about you and never forget again.
And I'll remember you, Arch.
"Gwen."
A little after six the next morning, just after first light, Archie sat up.
He heard the branch snap, then soft, careful footsteps on the walkway. They came from down on the property, not from the house but from the direction of the steps and the wildflowers that led down to his fence and the road.
His blankets were damp. The clothes he had slept in were damp. So was the bandage around his head. Archie shivered quickly as he listened to the footsteps getting closer. He lifted the Remington, stood and moved toward the walkway with the stubby barrel held out and his finger on the safety beside the trigger guard. Archie saw him first. A young blond guy in jeans and sneakers, light jacket. He held a camcorder up to his face as he picked his way along the walk. He swung the camera to his left, then his right, then aimed straight ahead, at the house.
Then at Archie, who stepped from beside a hibiscus plant and extended his arms and put the barrel of his riot gun under the guy's chin.
The man froze, one foot just coming up to begin a step. "Fuck, he whispered. "Please don't shoot."
The camera lowered very slowly and Archie saw the boyish face-the pale cheeks and young blue eyes, the weak mustache and rosy, astonished mouth.
Archie left the barrel where it was.
"I'm Gary Brice, Deputy. I'm a reporter with the Orange Count
Journal.
Please don't shoot me."
"Show me your ID."
"It's in my wallet. My wallet is in my pants pocket. I'll get it."
"Move very slowly."
"Can I put my other foot down?"
"No."
The man calling himself Brice produced ID and Archie glanced i it. It looked good. Brice still stood with one foot lifted almost off the ground, and this made him waver because his balance was bad.