– Who knows what they know, dude? Those guys, are like the. That thing they have in the desert?

– What?

– The thing that doesn’t talk? Napoleon’s soldiers shot the nose off of it?

– The Sphinx?

– Yeah, dude, Pedro and Leo are like the Sphinx, who knows what they know?

He has half the grass scooped onto the cardboard flap of a pack of Zig-Zags. He dumps it into a creased rolling paper he’s holding in his other hand. I check on Sid: still digging.

– Think they’ll get hassled much? Over me?

– Hard to say, dude. Figure those Federales were working on their own, but sooner or later some dude that’s been at The Bucket’s gonna see your pic on TV and remember you. Then who knows what goes down?

I finish my smoke, toss it out the window, and reach in the kangaroo pocket of my pullover for another. My hand slides across cold steel. I feel the cigarette box, take it out, and look inside: three left. I light one and keep the box in my hand.

Rolf is right. My photo is on cable news along with the sketch. That means it will be seen all over the world. A Mexican cop will remember me from Chichen Itza, or somebody from the beach will see it and call the police. Sooner or later they’ll find the connection between the sergeants and me.

– Will they hook Leo to the dead Federales?

The joint is rolled, he’s scraping the rest of the grass together to make a second.

– Nah, I don’t see why they would, dude. I mean, dude, you’re Henry Thompson. After they trace your movements around and talk to people and investigate you for that Russian guy’s death? They’ll finger you for the Federales, and the doctor, too. Why make it harder than it has to be?

Once again, other people’s dead bodies piling up in my account.

– Sorry ’bout that, by the way. Not the way I planned it, dude. But whatever.

– Yeah. Whatever.

He has the second scoop of grass resting in a paper, and holds it while he presses a fingertip onto little flakes still on the magazine cover and flicks them into the unrolled joint. I drag off my cigarette.

– Dude, you need to, like chill out now. Leo and Pedro are total survivors. Their shit might get messed with, but it’s not like they’ll do any time or anything.

He rolls the second joint, tucks it behind his right ear, pulls the first one from behind his left ear, puts it in his mouth, and lights it.

– Want to mellow out?

– I’ll pass.

He tokes the joint and reads Rolling Stone by the light of his Bic. Sid has tossed the bag in the hole and is filling it in. I take a last drag, flick my butt out the window. I slip the cigarette box back in my pocket, and fill my hand.

– So, Rolf, what am I doing with you guys?

He’s still looking at the magazine.

– Dude?

– I mean, why should I stay with you?

He turns his head to look at me and sees Danny’s pistol in my hand, pointed at him.

– I mean, what is it you’re threatening me with?

Rolf starts to straighten up.

– Just stay the fuck where you are.

– Dude, this is so uncool, we have a deal.

– Screw you. I am so sick of that line. I’ve had deals with people like you, and they always get fucked up, and I always end up getting fucked.

– This is such a bad call, dude.

– Why? Tell me why? You can’t go to the cops. You can’t threaten my parents, because you can’t go anywhere near that town. The only thing you can do is kill me or hurt me, so why shouldn’t I just get away from you?

– Oh, dude! Threaten your parents? Like I would do that. That’s ill.

– Is that supposed to make me feel better? Is that supposed to reassure me? Oh, don’t worry, dude, I would never, like, hurt your folks. That shit is, like, totally out of bounds, duuuuuuude.

– Dude, you need to chill.

– Get out of the bus, Rolf.

– Dude.

– GETOUTOFTHEFUCKINGBUS!!!

Something changes outside. My eyes flick to the right. Sid’s light is off. I can’t see him. I can’t see where Sid is.

Rolf moves. He yanks the door handle and pushes backward, falling out of the bus.

My finger jerks on the trigger as Rolf, still in the line of fire, is dropping to the sand. Nothing happens. There is a thump as Rolf lands on the ground, out of view.

I look at the pistol. The safety is on.

The front passenger door opens right behind me. Sid! I fling myself to the floor between the front seats, twisting to land on my back, thumb groping for the safety. I land hard and my head whaps the driver’s seat and my vision rolls a couple times like a TV with the vertical hold out. Sid climbs into the passenger seat I’ve vacated, the stubby camping shovel in his right hand.

– Dude!

My thumb clicks the safety. I’m waving the pistol up and down like a conductor’s baton, trying to track Sid as he flips up my eyeballs over and over.

– Chill.

I pull the trigger and a bullet whangs through the roof of the bus, followed immediately by three or four more. Danny, the incredible asshole, has set the trigger weight at an insanely high sensitivity, and the pistol jumps in my hand, the recoil of each round triggering the next. The blips in my vision roll around once more, and stop as Sid pushes back, tumbling out the door like Rolf did. Time to go.

I crane my head around and reach for the steering wheel to pull myself up, and am just in time to see Rolf’s arm stretched through the open driver’s door, his hand snatching the keys from the ignition.

– No!

I grab at the keys, snag the cuff of his yellow shirt, and press the barrel of the gun against his wrist.

– I’ll blow your fucking hand off, Rolf. Drop the fucking keys.

The bus rocks. Sid again. I turn, bringing the gun around. Rolf pulls free, Sid brings the flat of his shovel down on my right foot and ducks back out of sight before I can get off another shot. This is not working. My little plan of kicking Rolf out of the bus and driving off is not working. I stay low and edge back until I hit the bench seat. The throbbing in my head and left thigh has been joined by one in my right foot.

I peek left and right through the open front doors. No sign of either of them.

– Rolf!

– Dude?

He’s still outside the driver’s side.

– Toss the keys in and then I want you both to walk over in front of the bus where I can see you.

– Dude, no fucking way.

– Rolf, I am going to come out there and just shoot you guys. Now throw in the keys and get where I can see you.

– Dude, you know we have a gun, right?

Uh?

– Like, Sid had to shoot that deputy with something, right, dude?

My stomach drops.

– Bullshit. Why didn’t he just shoot me?

– Dude, because I don’t want to.

Sid, still on the passenger side.

– Bullshit.

BANG!

I duck.

– That wasn’t at you, dude. Just to, like, prove it, you know.

Bad plan, Hank, very bad plan.

– So, dude, toss your piece out and we’ll all chill and get back with the program.

I get on my hands and knees and crawl around the bench seat, into the back of the bus. I find the Anaconda where I stashed it under a loose flap of carpet, and stick it in the pocket of my pullover.

– Dude?

I edge up onto the bed where I hid earlier, staying flat so I can’t be seen through the windows. I grab the handle that opens the rear window, push the little button at its center, and twist.

– Dude?

Is he a little closer? I shout.

– I need to think!

I push the window and it lifts up and out.

Sid calls.

– Brah, don’t do this, man, don’t fuck this up. You know, you so know how important this is to me. I’m all, I’m all… please, dude.

I let go of the window and springs draw it open. I lever myself up and over the window’s lip, roll out, and drop to the ground. The landing jars my squishy brain and blackness strobes at the edge of my vision, then recedes. I crawl the first few feet, the sand dragging at my clumsy limbs, then get into a low crouch, stumbling away from the bus, trying to keep it between me and them.