|
|
|
|
|
|
|
age were withered and brown. The coastal mountains had sucked every last drop of moisture out of the atmosphere and just taking an unair-conditioned breath was a chore. Between towns, the fields were as hard and gray as concrete, and plagued with dust devils that sprouted without warning, then disappeared into air that tasted like hot asphalt. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Kyna stopped to fill up at a service station outside Santa Barbara before she slowly cruised through the town. The business district was quaint and clean, but it was almost noon and the streets were deserted. Most of the shop owners had surrendered to the torrid weather, hanging signs on their doors stating that they would reopen after sundown. The heat was having its way with the Lincoln too, pushing the needle on the temperature gauge all the way over into the red zone. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"If I don't get something cold to drink soon," Kyna said, "I'm going to melt." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She parked in front of a Mexican restaurant with an OPEN sign and an air conditioner and let the car cool its heels while they went inside in search of a cold beer. The cantina was long and coolall brightly-painted tile and dusky wood. The bar was an island of tall bottles in the center of the floor, surrounded by small tables and booths. The walls were decorated with the usual mix of bullfight posters, animal-shaped papier-mâché piñatas and sombreros with wide scarves tied around the crowns. A cheerfully toothsome Mexican waitress took them to a booth and set two cold Dos Equis beers on the table without waiting to be asked. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"You have deliveries in San Diego?" Cyrus asked Kyna as he finger-painted in the condensation on the scarred tabletop. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"One. Just outside the city limits. And then it's on to Tucson." She looked up and added, "Listen, Russ, I've been thinking. I better try to call Bryan about what happened in Seattle. If he hears about it first he's going to start sending people around to ask questions." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Bryan," Cyrus repeated, working the name around in his mouth to see how it felt. "Bryan Douglas. Hmm . . ." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Kyna took another sip of rapidly warming beer. "Maybe |
|
|
|
|
|