They saw Arlen, who'd come from the opposite end of the tent street, facing them now, Arlen's Navy Colt stuck in his belt near to the front. Jim Rein and Newton wore their revolvers in military holsters with the flaps cut off. Jim Rein saw the one wearing the bandanna staring at him the same way he'd stared at Junebug's without ever saying a word. As Jim Rein and Newton came up to Arlen, Jim Rein saw the two Mexicans or whatever they were bring out their own Colt revolvers from wherever they kept them and lay them on the table-at the same time without saying anything or nudging each other.

Hector Diaz looked at the three Confederate soldiers in their hats with no style to them, no personality, three guys, Hector believed, who were used to scaring people by the way they looked at you. But now the expression on the face of the leader changed. This was the one called Arlen. He said, "How you boys doing this evening?"

Hector looked up at him. Tonto looked at the other two.

"Getting yourselves some air?"

They didn't answer that one either.

"Can't get you boys to say nothing," Arlen said. "How about your general, Mr. German-o? How's he doing?"

Hector smiled a little; he couldn't help it. He said, "Our general is asleep."

"You his guard dogs?"

"No, what you said, we getting the air."

"Ask him to come out here," Arlen said, "so I can speak to him. Or I can step inside the tent."

"I tole you," Hector said, "he sleeping."

Arlen nodded at the table. "Those pistols loaded?"

"Yes, they are," Hector said.

"You know you're not suppose to put loads in your guns?"

"Yes, we know it," Hector said, "the same as you know it."

Arlen said, "What're we getting to here?"

Hector turned his head to Tonto. "Fucking High Noon, man."

Arlen said, "I didn't hear you."

"I tole him," Hector said, "you want to pull your guns, but you don't have the nerve."

The one with the tobacco stains in his beard said, "What'd he say?"

But the one, Arlen, was louder, telling them, "You think that's what we come here for? To shoot you? Jesus Christ."

"Our Lord and Savior," Hector said. "No, I don't think to shoot us. Maybe scare us so we go home."

"We gonna see you tomorrow," Arlen said, "when we do Brice's, and run you off with rifle butts and bayonets."

Hector said, "And swords?"

"You want to sword-fight?" Arlen said. "I got a sword. Shit, we'll do 'er any way you want, Pancho."

Hector turned to Tonto again. "You hear this guy?"

Tonto only shrugged.

But then the one with the stained beard said, "Where's the nigger at?"

Tonto looked at him and said, "He left. He went to fuck your wife."

Hector could see the guy with the beard was about to go crazy, but Arlen stopped him, took the hand reaching for the pistol and twisted it behind him the way cops know how to do it, and that was the end of the visit. Arlen said one word to them before they marched off with the one still on the edge of being crazy. He said, "Tomorrow."

Hector looked at Tonto. "Tomorrow okay with you?"

22

A FEW MINUTES PAST SIX the next morning, Sunday, the big day, Anne left Robert's suite to go down the hall sleepy-eyed to get in her own bed.

The one-Oh, shit-Jerry was in.

Jerry snoring away, the sound, that drone, coming from the bedroom. It stopped Anne in her slides as she entered the suite and got her thinking, Quick, where were you?

But first she'd have to know what time Jerry got back. Now she was saying things to herself like, Are you out of your mind? You actually believed he'd sleep in a fucking tent? She should never have listened to Robert with that baby, it's cool, nothing to worry about. "You don't want him walking in on us, we do it in my bed." Anne saying, "But if he comes back and I'm not in my bed-" Robert saying, "Come on, baby, have us a quickie and call it a night." Except that Robert was a slowpoke making love, kept slow-poking till they both fell asleep for almost six hours.

Fooling around could have its hair-raising moments, especially cheating on a gangster, and she'd tell herself it wasn't worth it. But then Robert would give her the look and she'd give him the look and they'd be back fooling around again. She slipped into the king-size bed next to Jerry to lie there waiting for him to wake up.

The phone rang at eight, the phone on Jerry's side of the bed.

Anne reached across him, stretching, for a moment her face close to his, lifted the receiver before it rang again and laid it back in its cradle. Slipping back across Jerry she came to his face, his eyes, inches away, open, looking at her. She kissed him on the mouth, a peck, and rolled back onto her pillow.

"Who was that?"

"I've no idea."

"Why'd you hang up?"

"It's too early to talk."

She waited, hoping that fucking phone would not ring.

"Where were you?"

Here we go.

"Where was I? When?"

"All fuckin night."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I come back, you're not here."

"What time was it?"

"What's the difference-you weren't fuckin here."

"Jerry. What time was it?"

"Twelve, twelve-thirty."

Anne said, "Yeah…?" taking her time, and said, "I was out on the balcony," adding a note of surprise to her voice. "I fell asleep on the lounge. You didn't see me? Yeah, I came in and looked at the clock. It was one-thirty, you were asleep…" She said, "I knew you weren't gonna spend the night in that tent."

"You were out on the balcony."

"Yeah, I can't believe you didn't see me."

There was a silence, Jerry lying there with nothing more to say. But now she was home free and couldn't let it go.

"Where did you think I was?"

Walter Kirkbride had started to get dressed with every intention of slipping out of the tent early, unobserved, before the women in camp were out there cooking breakfast. And he would have, if he hadn't looked over at little Traci turning onto her side on the cot, the little sweetie pulling the blanket with her to show him her bare white bummy. It lured Walter out of his longjohns to express his love. And then had to rest.

While he was getting dressed the second time little Traci lit into him in a pouty way, moaning about being mostly all alone yesterday, and having to wear that dumb hoopskirt.

"I walk around here, everybody looks at me."

"Well, sure they do, you're cute as a bug. Aren't you my little Barbie?" He'd call her that in the trailer and she'd call him Ken, only in her countrified way it would come out sounding like "Kin."

"Those fat women'd ask me who're my people. Where was I from. Do I want to help them make johnnycake. What was I suppose to say? I told 'em I had to go to the bathroom. But you try to get in one of those little shithouses with a hoopskirt on. You have to lift it up in front real high and go in sideways. But then you're in there the skirt takes up all the room. What I did was get up on the seat and squat over it to pee."

Walter was pulling his boots, straining, trying to hurry. That, and hearing her talking about peeing, gave him the urge.

"I went in that store where they have all the little statues of famous generals and stuff? I have all kinds of ashtrays with Confederate flags on 'em, so I bought a plate I thought might be used as one, had Robert E. Lee, Jefferson Davis and Stonewall Jackson on it, and the flag, of course. I use to have a G-string with a Confederate flag on it guys liked a lot when I was dancing go-go. They'd salute it. I was only fourteen but already had my tits."

Walter stood at the back of the tent relieving himself, feeling calmer as the flow hit the sand, not making a sound.

"Sweetie, you get dressed, put on your bluejeans. We may leave here in a hurry."