While Bobby Tone reamed his ears with his pinky, Carlos flipped out the cylinder of the big revolver and dumped the empty shotgun shells. Then he reached into his jacket, brought out five more shells, and reloaded.
“This firearm,” Carlos said, snapping the cylinder back into place, “is called the Judge. And the Judge doesn’t like fiberglass.” He looked sidelong at Bobby Tone. “Didn’t you tell them the Judge wouldn’t like fiberglass?”
Bobby nodded. “I mentioned that low-quality instruments would not be considered.”
Tyler stabbed a finger toward the ventilated bell. “That’s a King! It’s a four-thousand-dollar horn!”
“If you say so,” Bobby Tone said. “This ain’t my area of expertise. I’m just the middleman.”
Carlos tucked the Judge behind his back again. “So, children,” he said. “What else do you have?”
While Tyler, Donny, and Jared conferred in a nervous huddle and Kaylee sat down on the tattered couch again, I glanced at the Ford. I didn’t think any of the shotgun pellets had pinged the truck, but I guessed Marisa had gotten a good scare. And sure enough, she was out of sight. I assumed she had flattened on the floor of the pickup bed.
Good. A smart kid like Marisa needed to be scared away from dodgy crap. Otherwise she might wind up in a hoodie with eye black all over her face, crouching in the weeds somewhere.
Up on the porch, Jared was dragging another big black case outside. This time, when Tyler opened it, I saw a gold-lacquered brass bell gleaming inside.
Carlos pursed his lips. “This appears to be acceptable,” he said. “But let’s find out.”
In a few smooth motions, Carlos had the sousaphone out of its case with the bell attached. He dropped the circular tubing over his head and onto his shoulders, then placed his fingers on the valve keys and his lips to the mouthpiece.
A fast, booming scale burst forth and made the Civic’s bumper rattle. I could feel it in my chest, too. It wasn’t as sharp as the sound the Judge had made, but it penetrated deeper. I was impressed.
Carlos stopped after thirty seconds, removed and disassembled the instrument, and replaced it in its case. He snapped the case shut, then stood up and looked at Bobby Tone.
“Twenty-two hundred,” he said.
Donny made a noise like a burro kicked in the balls, and Tyler exclaimed, “Bull-shiit!”
Carlos turned away and stared off into the night.
Bobby Tone extended his hands toward the boys, palms turned upward. “He says twenty-two hundred, it’s twenty-two hundred.”
“Aw, Jesus,” Tyler said. His appliance-store-salesman voice had morphed into a whine. “That’s a Conn. It sells for eight thousand new, and it’s only, like, four months old. It ain’t even been marched. You gotta give us at least four thousand. Especially since y’all shot up the King.”
Carlos remained stock-still.
Bobby Tone raised an eyebrow. “Boys, take it or leave it. And if you leave it, he will not be making another offer.”
Tyler and Donny both cussed. But Jared just looked at Kaylee, who was sitting on the couch with her hair in her face, staring down at her knees.
I saw her nod.
Then Jared and Tyler exchanged a look, and Tyler gave an exasperated groan.
“If we gotta, we gotta,” he said.
Carlos turned to face them and reached behind his back again. The boys flinched. But this time Carlos brought out a leather wallet the size of a small notebook. He opened it as if it were the Bible, counted out twenty-two bills, and handed them to Bobby Tone. Then he tucked the wallet back with the Judge.
Bobby peeled two bills from the stack and extended the rest toward Tyler.
“Dude, you’re shorting us,” Tyler whined.
Bobby Tone frowned. “Nope. My finder’s fee is 10 percent. So you still owe me twenty bucks.”
Tyler took the stack of hundreds and stuffed it into his back pocket.
“Now,” Carlos said, “did you save the best for last?”
Donny jerked a thumb at Jared, and Jared went inside.
“We did, sir,” Tyler said. The kid was doing his best to regain his composure. “This one is about three years old, but it’s in perfect shape. A new one would run you 15 K.”
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Sousaphones don’t often cost that much.”
Tyler grinned as Jared dragged out the third case and set it on the porch beside the second.
“That’s because this sucker ain’t a sousaphone,” he said. He squatted, unsnapped the latches, and flipped open the lid with a flourish. “According to my band-geek colleagues, this right here is a Gronitz concert tuba. It’s the Kingman High band teacher’s pride and joy since he convinced some rich San Antonio asshole to donate it. But Mr. Garrett’s loss can be your gain.”
That made my teeth grit. Up to now, I had held out some hope that David Garrett might be part of the sousaphone-stealing conspiracy. After all, he was a low-paid teacher with access to high-cost instruments. But there was no sign of him here, and Tyler seemed amused by his potential discomfort.
Nuts. I hadn’t even been introduced to Garrett yet, but I was pretty sure he was sleeping with my ex. It would have made me happy if he were a criminal. All I’d seen for sure in the five weeks I’d been back in Kingman was that he was talented, handsome, popular, and drove an almost-new Nissan Maxima. Also, he was African-American, which gave him some heritage in common with Elizabeth. Of course, I knew that my European genes weren’t the reason our marriage had cratered. But then, I had wished I were black ever since I’d seen Freddie King play at the Armadillo in Austin when I was six. My father had shown me a few good things besides how to pick a lock.
Carlos leaned over, looked into the case, then gave a sigh.
“No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so.”
Tyler stood up bug-eyed. “Are you kidding? This thing is pristine.”
“And look at all that metal!” Donny said. “There’s more than in three sousaphones!”
Carlos looked into the case again. “This would be fine as a recording instrument, or for a symphony—but these are not my markets. I think you may have been misled by the fact that in Mexico, a sousaphone is simply called a tuba.” He gave Donny a disdainful glance. “As for the amount of metal, I assume you think I am in the scrap business. I am not.” He looked into the case a third time. “Eight hundred.”
Then Carlos turned away and stared into the night again.
This time Donny was the one who yelled: “Bull-shiit! Bu-ull-SHIIT!”
Bobby Tone held out his hands. “Boys, you got ten seconds.”
I watched as Tyler and Donny stomped and cussed some more. Then, as before, Jared looked at Kaylee, whose face was still hidden in her hair. She was picking at a piece of dead skin on her ankle. But she gave Jared another nod, and Jared passed it on to Tyler.
Tyler groaned and held out his hand.
As before, Carlos turned around, produced the big wallet, pulled out some bills, and handed them to Bobby Tone.
Bobby thumbed the top bill away and tucked it into his pocket. “Now you don’t owe me twenty anymore.” He handed Tyler the remaining seven hundred.
Tyler, as sullen as a neutered bulldog, stuffed it into his back pocket with the rest. The pocket bulged now, but that only seemed to make him sadder.
I would do what I could to relieve him of that burden. Twenty-seven hundred wasn’t a huge payday. But I’d often settled for less.
Carlos turned to Bobby Tone. “If there’s nothing else, we should be going.”
Bobby pointed at the house. “Y’all got anything else in there?”
“Naw, that’s all we could grab,” Donny said. “Kingman only has one other sousaphone anyway, and it’s old and beat-up.”