She didn't throw the slide bolt on the door because that would be worse, trying to explain to Ray why she was in here behind a locked door. The other way, he just walked in on her, she wouldn't look so guilty, and anyhow, she could always use that old excuse, female curiosity.

All right now, Edna, don't you go lingerin'.

She saw the stove where Ray cooked the meth straight away. Above it was shelf, and on the shelf were old prescription pill bottles, amber plastic with white plastic tops, and she opened one and found spansules, Ray's personal stash. This was not what she was looking for. She opened another and found it to be filled with rocks of ice. She dumped half the rocks out into her hand and dropped them in a film canister she carried in her pocket. What, was Ray going to count every piece of ice he had? Like Johanna liked to say, I don't think so.

Before she left the room she had a quick look around at Ray's tools and weights. Boys' toys. She'd never complain about his liftin' weights, though. Ray was on the short side, but he did make her damp down there when he took off his shirt at night. She liked that bulldog look.

Somewhere in here was the entrance to their little tunnel, too. She'd had a good laugh with Johanna over that one, after the two of them had had way too many drinks one time at this tavern, place that had the jukebox played Whitesnake and Warrant and those other groups Johanna liked, down near Poolesville. Ray liked to try and scare her, tell her about the snakes that lived down in the tunnel, but she didn't pay him much mind. She wasn't afraid of no snakes; snakes weren't nothin' but overgrown worms. And why would she want to go down in that dirty tunnel for, anyway?

She walked out of the room as confidently as she'd gone in. No one was in the saloon area of the bar that Ray and Earl had built and decorated themselves. No one had seen a thing.

She locked the door behind her, shaking hair off her shoulders. She'd done it, and she was proud of what she'd done.

Earl Boone sat on the edge of his bed, killing off a can of Busch beer. He crushed the can in his hand, dropped it in a wastebasket, where it clanged against other empties, and went to his bedroom window. He flipped open the lid on a box of Marlboros, shook out a smoke, and drew it from the box with his lips. He lit it with a Zippo that had a raised map of Vietnam on one side and the Marine Corps insignia on the other. Below the map were the words 'Paid to Kill.' Every time he looked at the lighter, he recalled with some bit of fondness that he was full of piss and vinegar when he was a kid.

Edna was coming out the barn like she was on fire, walking real fast and shaking that hair and ass of hers, heading for the truck. Girl was always going fast, 'cept in the morning, when she looked like somethin' that the cat wouldn't think of dragging indoors. Now she and Ray were talking or arguing over something, he couldn't never tell which. Earl didn't understand why Ray didn't just backhand the girl when she got to sass-talking like she was prone to do. Around other men, Ray had a temper he couldn't control, but put him near anything with a fur piece between its legs and he was tamer than a broke-dick dog.

Some men were like that, but not Earl. Back when Earl was married to Ray's mother, Margo, God have mercy on her soul, he'd shown her the back of his hand and even a fist once or twice, when she got real brave and disrespectful behind that gin she liked to drink. The gin took her liver eventually. At the end, when she was on those machines with the tubes running out her nose, waiting on a transplant, he'd almost apologized for those times he'd raised his hand to her, but it was not in his nature to do so, and the moment had passed. Hell, he knew she'd never get a liver from the start. It would go to some rich person, even if that person was below her on the list. That was the way the world worked. He'd known it from the time he'd fallen out his cradle and begun to walk on two feet.

Now Edna was driving the truck out of the yard and down the gravel road.

Earl got into his winter jacket. He put his smokes and lighter in one pocket and his.38 in the other. He picked up his six-pack cooler and turned out the lamp in his room. Looked like Ray was done tamperin' with the car, and right about now he'd be looking to move out, nervous and ready to roll. Nervous in that way he got, when somethin' was about to happen.

Nestor Rodriguez saw the Taurus enter the parking lot and snake up and down the rows of cars. Ray Boone always looked for cops and DEA types in unmarked vehicles when he pulled into the lot. Nestor had already checked and was satisfied that there was no problem, as these kinds of cars were very easy to spot. But Ray was the kind of person who needed to know this for himself.

Into the phone Nestor said, 'They're here,' and, still watching the Taurus in his rear- and sideview mirrors, added, 'Wait until I tell you, then lock your car down and walk on over to mine.'

Ray Boone parked the Taurus next to Nestor's Contour. Nestor's eyes went past the old man, unshaven and looking like a two-day drunk as usual, and on to Ray, who was seated behind the wheel. Nestor nodded to Ray as he spoke into the phone: 'All right, Lizardo, come on.'

'How do our friends look today?' said Lizardo.

'Don't be funny,' said Nestor, smiling slightly at Ray through the window as he spoke. 'The little jerkoff doesn't like your humor. We just want to do our business and get on our way. And no Spanish, Lizardo; he doesn't like that, either.'

'Okay,' said Lizardo. 'Here I come.'

Nestor cradled the phone. He didn't like the playful sound in his brother's voice. Going back to when the two of them were kids, Lizardo was always with the jokes.

Lizardo exited his car, locked it, checked the locks, and walked along the row of cars, dropping his keys in his pocket. He wore his hair in the same fashion as his brother's but did not shave between his eyebrows, leaving one long brow like a furry black caterpillar stretched out across the base of his forehead. He had a small mustache, but no hair on his chin, and dressed with less regard for style than his brother. He bought his clothing at Target and Montgomery Ward. He didn't like fabrics that wrinkled and wondered why fools paid extra for fabrics that did. At home, he often slept in his clothes when he'd had too much to drink.

Nestor got out of the Contour, locked it, and met Lizardo at the back of the car. He opened the trunk and flipped over the indoor / outdoor carpet piece that normally covered a well holding the spare but that now covered five identical gym bags with Adidas logos printed on their sides. He lifted two of the gym bags out, replaced the carpet, and locked the trunk. His movements were fluid, and both he and his brother were very calm.

Nestor and Lizardo split up, Nestor going to one side of the Taurus and Lizardo going to the other, and entered the backseat of the car.

'Hello, Ray,' said Nestor. 'Hello, Earl.'

'Ho-la, amigos,' said Ray.

'How do, Earl,' said Lizardo, clapping Earl on the shoulder.

'How do,' said Earl. He popped the ring on a can of Busch and took a long swig.

'Lie on down back there,' said Ray. 'It ain't far.'

They didn't protest. This small thing seemed to put Ray at ease. Nestor and Lizardo arranged themselves the way they had many times before. Nestor let his legs dangle off the bench and put his face down on the seat, and Lizardo did the same in the opposite direction. Nestor's face was inches away from Lizardo's ass.

'Here we go,' said Ray, backing out of his spot.

They had been on the interstate for a mile or so when Nestor heard a kind of sharp squeak. Then came an awful, wretched smell from the seat of Lizardo's pants.