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bitter tears that she tried to hide streaming down her face. |
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Cyrus had never felt so helpless. He turned over on his stomach and clenched his jaws together to keep from screaming. A few minutes later she hung up and came over to the bed. |
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"He wants to talk to you when he gets to Albuquerque," she said. "You know what that means?" |
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Cyrus glued a smile to his face and rolled over. "He wants to shake my hand?" |
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"Hardly. It means that if we're lucky, he only wants to have you beaten to a pulp. You know what that bastard said? He said Dessotti was his biggest client on the West Coast and I should have just given him the fucking shipment. Right! Given it to him. He's a real bastard." |
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"What about when you mentioned Dessotti's plans for you?" |
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"He told me to quit acting like an ingénue." |
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"Ah, yes." Cyrus shook his head and smiled until he thought his face would crack. "The man is a real charmer. I can hardly wait to make his acquaintance." |
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"I know that tone. Forget what you're thinking. Bryan is better connected than Ma Bell. You do anything to him and it'll be like shooting ourselves square between the eyes." |
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"The thought never entered my head." |
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Kyna stood in front of the fake Spanish mirror over the dresser and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. |
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"Fuck him!" she said at last. "Let's do something fun." |
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"I thought you were hot." |
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"Not as hot as I'm gonna be if I just sit around here thinking about that asshole. I need to work off some steam." |
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They drove to a shopping mall across town where Kyna purchased new hiking boots for both of them; then they had dinner at a pizza restaurant in the Mexican section of Tucson. Throughout dinner, Kyna was moody, picking at the pepperoni slices on top of her pizza and responding to Cyrus's feeble |
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