"Well, that sounded pretty good. Is there more where that came from?" she asked.
"A bottomless pit."
He put his hand on her knee under the table.
The waitress came by with a pot of coffee, but they refused. Tizzie went to the bathroom, and Jude signaled for the check with air writing. He got it, and as he rose to leave, he spotted the Mexican busboy and walked over to him to say good-bye and talked some more, slipping him a twenty-dollar tip. The broad face registered surprise, and the dark eyes followed Jude on the way to the cash register, where Tizzie joined him. He paid the bill and they left.
"What were you two talking about?" she asked.
"Nothing much."
It was late now. Tizzie drove because she was the sober one. The gas station and fast-food signs were extinguished, and there were not many cars. The highway stretched before them like a dark river and the moon was up, and they felt as if they were the only two people still awake.
Every light in the motel was out. Their door cards were waiting for them in the office, sitting in mailboxes. Someone had closed Skyler's door, and the banister had been cleaned. It smelled vaguely of disinfectant.
"Want a nightcap?" Jude asked, opening his door.
Tizzie refused. More than anything, she said, she needed a bath.
They went to their separate rooms. But a minute later, he heard a rap at his door. His pulse quickened.
She was standing there, one hand on her hip.
"Wouldn't you know it — my tub doesn't work. Stopper's broken."
He let her in. Moments later, through the bathroom door, which was opened a crack, he heard water cascading into the tub. He turned on the television: a late night black-and-white movie. He let it roll on, but he didn't pay it any mind. From the mini-bar, he got a Budweiser and sipped it from the bottle.
Eventually, after much splashing about, she emerged in a cloud of steam, wearing two towels, one tied around her waist, the other draped across her breasts. She was carrying her clothes in a bundle.
Jude patted the bed and motioned for her to sit down. She did, without putting down her clothes. He leaned over toward her and kissed her gently on the neck, which smelled fresh and damp. He felt her wet hair on the back of his neck.
She pulled away slightly and sat upright. "Jude."
The sound of his name was the sound of a door closing.
"It's been a long day."
He nodded defensively.
"Mountain roads, cave-ins, a near-death experience. I'd say that's a lot for one girl. I'm ready to turn in."
"Funny — you didn't mention Skyler."
"That's because that one is still hanging. And I can't bear to think of it."
After she left, and he heard her door open and close, he sat up some more in bed, sipping the beer and watching the movie, whose plot he never quite caught.
The next morning, they got up early, had a quick breakfast and went to the hospital. Skyler's door was open, but the curtain was drawn. They saw a breakfast tray on the bedstand, a plate with half-eaten pancakes sitting in a pool of syrup. Tizzie pulled the curtain back.
The patient was sitting up in bed, looking alert. He was overjoyed to see them and gave them both hugs. It seemed clear from the reception he gave them that he had been through a harrowing time.
Skyler remembered almost nothing of his illness — only certain moments, he said, like staring at his blood on the motel room wall, stumbling down the stairs, the frightening wail of the ambulance.
"Has a doctor been by? Dr. Geraldi?" Tizzie asked.
"No."
He asked them where they had been yesterday.
So they told him what had happened to them in the Gold King Mine — how they had been trapped in the tunnel and dug their way out and lost the car and were then followed by a mysterious car.
"Christ," said Skyler. "I had it easy compared to you guys."
They also told him about their talk, about Tizzie's confession.
Skyler looked at Jude — uncertainly, but also a little defiantly.
"So now you know — about Julia?" he asked.
"Yes," replied Jude, thinking it strange that Skyler had said "about Julia" and not "about Tizzie."
Skyler looked away and said nothing, which bothered Jude. He's feeling half sad, he thought, and half guilty for keeping it a secret from me.
And it dawned on Jude that he was extrapolating from the way he would feel.
Tizzie fussed over Skyler, getting him an extra pillow and fresh ice for his water. Then she went off in search of coffee for herself and Jude, and while she was gone, the two of them felt awkward together, Skyler propped up against the headboard, Jude leaning back against a window ledge. They couldn't think of much to say, and the silence was uncomfortable.
Tizzie returned with two styrofoam cups containing black water with a hint of coffee. She had cornered Dr. Geraldi.
"He's gotten some of the tests back. He's less worried — though he still doesn't know what it was. He's convinced it was some sort of mystery virus and says the most important thing is if you're feeling better. He's going to stop by later — I think he'll discharge you."
Jude left Tizzie at the hospital to look after Skyler. He had things to do.
He stopped off in the lobby and found a bank of telephones with a phone book, in which he checked the government listings and the yellow pages. He scribbled the addresses. First, he drove to the Motor Vehicles Bureau and stood in line for a full five minutes, sizing up the operation. Then he stepped outside to have a cigarette, got back in the car and pulled away.
He found the photographer as advertised at a mall not far away. The studio was at the top of a staircase over a deli, a cramped office with a wall plastered with heavily airbrushed photos of smiling children and happy families.
The secretary was chewing gum with her mouth open. She took his name — a false one, naturally — and gestured for him to sit down. Five minutes later, he was posing for the photographer, a scrawny young man who couldn't understand why Jude passed up all the alluring backdrops — a bookcase crammed with leather-covered volumes, a bosky scene with a waterfall, a New England autumnal setting — in favor of a simple red background. That one, he remarked, was as dull as the Arizona licenses. He was doubly confused when, halfway through the session, Jude insisted upon exchanging shirts and combed his hair straight back.
While waiting for the photos to be processed, Jude had a cup of coffee in the deli and read the papers. Nothing much happening. But one brief item caught his eye: a body had been discovered in Georgia, maimed beyond recognition and with the visceral organs missing. It was the second such murder there within the week. Police were searching for what the papers had dubbed "the body-snatcher." Jude wondered: more maiming of dead bodies. Was it just one more coincidence?
He picked up the photos and drove across town, back to the Big Bull restaurant. Now for the hard part. He parked and walked around the back to the kitchen entrance. The door was open, next to an outdoor air-conditioning unit that was humming in high gear but not pumping cold air where it would do any good for the help. The cooks and dishwashers were pouring sweat. They watched him with curiosity, and when he stepped inside, no one stopped him and no one spoke to him. He found the Mexican busboy, and he could tell by the look on his face that he remembered him from the night before. Jude took him outside for a talk.
It lasted all of ten minutes. A cigarette offered and accepted, some chitchat and finally the request, gently but firmly made: surely you must know where something like that can be done — for a friend, you understand, someone perhaps in the same boat as friends of yours. The exchange was sealed with two more twenty-dollar bills, the new kind that still looked fishy.