– I said, I understand.

– Good. So, spose you want to talk to your girl.

– Shes not really my girl.

– Not the picture she paints.

I stopped walking nervous circles around a garbage can.

– Really? Like, what did she say?

– You can ask when you get here with the almonds.

– You just said I could talk to my girl.

– No, I said, spose youd like to talk with your girl. Way you do that is to get over here with my can. ‘Sides, just said shes not your girl.

– I know what I said.

– So, whats to talk with her?

– Just tell me where to go.

He told me and I let my jaw drop the appropriate amount.

– Youre fucking kidding me.

– Hell would I be kidding you?

I scooped my jaw up.

– No reason. Anyway, its not you, its just God playing fun with me.

– Boy.

– Yeah.

– Dont go making jokes about God with me. I dont have that kind of humor.

– No. I didnt think you did.

– And tell that jackass Jaime, he dont come up with what he owes us for the room here and our meals, this whole things gonna go up in his face.

And he hung up.

I closed the phone, looked back through the window at Jaime, still pumping his fist with every ripped limb, and walked down to the edge of the parking lot and looked west up Anaheim.

I looked back inside Jims to make sure Jaime was well stocked with quarters, and then walked a couple blocks along Anaheim to Flint and took a left at the used-truck lot; a dirt yard fenced with corrugated steel and barbwire, filled with big rigs. Less than a block down from there, past a row of turquoise stucco bungalows, I found the Harbor Inn. I walked down the alley that ran along the north side and looked at a back wall dotted with little bathroom windows. I continued down the alley that wrapped around the whole building. No doors other than the emergency exit at the back. The Harbor Inn, a long two-story corridor of rooms, windows on the outer walls. I looked at the rear southeast corner, on the ground floor. I looked down another alley that ran away to the east, a passage of ridged cargo container steel, chopped from abandoned cans. I walked back to the street. Looked at the road-beaten rig with Yosemite Sam painted on the hood parked at the curb across the street between two campers. I nodded at the guy standing out front of the Inn with a Heineken in his one hand and a Tijuana Bible in the other.

The first thing I noticed about holding a gun for the first time in my life was that the damn thing was heavy. The second thing was that shaking it and just kind of handling it didnt make any noise like it does in the movies and on TV where youd swear guns must be full of little tiny moving parts that click and rattle all the time. A real gun only makes noise when you do something to it. Like work the slide or snap the safety off, or pull the trigger. The last thing I realized about a gun was that holding one felt seriously fucking cool and dangerous at the same time. I didnt like that feeling.

I found a button on the side of the gun that was far enough from the trigger to make me feel reasonably secure nothing terrible would happen if I pushed it. I thumbed it in and the end of the clip popped out of the bottom of the grip. I pulled it free, finding more resistance than I expected, and set the gun on the seat. One by one I flicked the bullets from the clip and into the palm of my other hand. Having seen what they do to a body I didnt much want to touch them, but I did. Once the clip was empty I dribbled the shells into the breast pocket of my bowling shirt, and then slipped it back into the gun and pressed until I felt a firm click. I had the gun back in the glove box when I remembered something from one of L.L.s screenplays. I took the gun out and looked at it. I made sure the little safety lever was firmly set to o, and, taking care to aim the damn thing out the open door of the Apache at the ground away from Jims or the truck wash or Dreams, I pulled the slide back and watched the bullet Jaime had been stupid enough to keep chambered pop out and arc behind the seat and down into the hollow where Chev stored his tool bag.

– Shit.

I gentled the slide back into place and found that the hammer was cocked. I placed my thumb over it, and, for what I swore would be the only time in my life, I pulled the trigger of a gun. Nothing happened, of course. I mean, there was a snap and the hammer came loose and I lowered it into place, but the gun didnt go off by some weird alignment of having a hidden bullet and my thumb not being strong enough to hold the hammer back or anything like that. But until I put the thing back in the glove box, I kept expecting it to fire of its own will and send a round ricocheting over the parking lot and through a window and into someone elses life.

But that didnt happen. Which was a huge relief.

Next I made a final call to Po Sin and told him what he needed to know. Beyond that information, there seemed to be little excuse for conversation. Especially seeing as he was clearly still contemplating bailing on the whole deal.

I thought it best not to think about what that could mean. And succeeded in doing so. Not thinking about bad things being a gift of mine.

Finally, I got out of the truck and walked to the storm drain in the middle of the lot and dropped the bullets down between the grates to splash into the dirty soapy runoff from the truck wash.

– Whats up?

I looked up at Jaime as he came from the diner.

I shrugged.

– Just killing time.

I started back to the truck.

– We should get going.

– Fine by me. Wheres my gun?

I got in and knocked on the glove box.

– In there. But for fuck sake dont shoot anyone with it.

He took the gun out.

– Shoot anyone? Its a gun. Thats what its for. I mean, what am I supposed to use with Harris to make him give Soledad back so I can get the fucking money you owe me?

– We dont need a gun, we have a plan.

– Fucking plan? You never told me about a plan. A gun is better than a plan. A gun is a guarantee. What you -planning to do when your flan doesnt work and you need something to persuade Harris to go along?

I took out the envelope with the shipping documents.

– I thought wed use these.

He grabbed the envelope from me and stuck it in my face.

– Asshole, they seized the terminal. The law has the almonds.

I had a sudden flashback to the classroom. The effort it could take on some days to explain rudimentary principles of the English language to twelve-year-olds.

– Jaime, I know this is an abstract concept, but follow me here. Harris, he doesnt know the almonds were seized.

– Yeah, but.

– Jaime. He. Does. Not. Know. The. Almonds. Were. Seized.

He opened his mouth. Froze. Nodded.

– Yeeeaaah, man. He doesnt know. Yeah, thats good. Hey asshole, thats really fucking good. Great twist, man, great twist.

He slapped the envelope on his thigh.

– Will it work, asshole? Will he take the papers instead of the can?

I stared at him.

– Urn, wasnt this the way it was supposed to work in the first place?

– Well yeah, but I never knew if itd really work. Think it will?

I thought about the options, couldnt come up with any in particular.

– Yeah, itll work.

– Well it doesnt work, we got the gat as backup.

– You shouldnt need the gun. All you need to do is stay out of sight.

He gave me a squint.

– Whats that stay out of sight shit?

– Im sure youll be shocked to discover that Harris doesnt like you.

– Fuck him anyway. Like I like his hick ass.

– Just so. That being the case, Id rather not have two armed men who hate each other in the same room while Im negotiating for Soledads release.