 
High Fever Blues

By

Eugene Lester

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Eugene Lester

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. Thank you for your support.

This book is a work of fiction and is a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to any events, or any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Eugene Lester gratefully acknowledges use of the cover image by latoro.com.

Connect with Eugene Lester at his blog:

www.relicsofcivilization.typepad.com

The one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception absolutely necessary for both parties.

Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

I

Marilyn Carter had been meeting Dr. George Ayers, who used to be her psychiatrist, three times a week for over a year. They met in the afternoons in a room at the Sundowner Motel. Built in the early fifties, the Sundowner's rooms had finished pine walls and floors, paintings of Navajo sheepherders that were produced in Taiwan, and thick, dark double curtains that were always drawn to insulate the room and keep the heat out. The windows were sealed shut. Nine months of the year the air conditioner was on full blast, which was a necessity in Phoenix, Arizona.

Marilyn sat up in bed, smoking and listening to the shower running. She used the remote to turn the sound up on the television. On the screen a handsome young man dressed in a navy blue polo shirt sat under palm trees and made his pitch.

"Using just one tiny ad, there's no limit to the money you can make. Just one ad that works, placed in the hottest newspapers all around the United States, will make you amounts of money that you never dreamed of."

The shower stopped.

"George, do you think I should try tiny ads?"

George, toweling off, came out of the bathroom and fixed his eyes on the short black cotton dress that clung to Marilyn's hips. Marilyn was tanned, but not too tanned, with shoulder length blond hair, turquoise eyes, smooth lips, perfect white teeth, and the curves of a lioness. George was tanned, too, and almost lizardly handsome, with streaks of silver in his dark hair.

"Do you want my tiny ass?" he asked, puzzled.

Marilyn pulled George's towel away. As she looked George up and down, he reached for her.

"Oh, George. You shouldn't offer to massage the legs of your wife's golfing partner when your wife's not there."

Marilyn broke away from George, rummaged through her purse, and pulled out a pack of menthol Dorals. Inside the pack she found her two-inch length of joint and her roach clip, and placed them next to the ashtray on the night stand. She reached for the ashtray, picked up a Sundowner Motel matchbook, lit the joint with a match, took a hit, and handed the joint to George. He took a hit and gave it back.

"I just love to smoke pot," Marilyn said. "I love the way it makes my ears pop."

"I'll bring some Ecstasy next time," George said.

"Is it good?"

"Marilyn, it'll make you so horny you'll have to beg me for an antidote."

"Why would I want an antidote for that, George?"

George's beeper, lying on his neatly folded clothes, went off.

"Why do you still have one of those things? They're so eighties."

"All doctors have a beeper. It's one of the requirements."

* * *

An award plaque from the Chamber of Commerce sat on a shelf in Dan Carter's garage. The plaque read:

Dan Carter

Phoenix, Arizona

Young Businessman of the Year

DanCart, Inc.

Next to the plaque sat a miniature model of a digital gasoline pump. On top of the mini-pump was a small DanCart sign. A cut out, stand up photograph showed Dan Carter leaning against the mini-pump. He was smiling and waving. The cut out emphasized his deep brown eyes and thick black hair.

Now Dan was at work in his garage, installing a five channel amplifier and a subwoofer into the new red Mazda Miata convertible that belonged to his wife, Marilyn. She had complained that her new car's stereo sounded wimpy. He had insisted on doing it himself because he wanted to install state of the art audio. Dan had put the convertible top down and then crawled down and twisted himself up and under the dashboard. His tools were spread out on the passenger side floorboard.

When he had difficulty sliding the amplifier into its bracket, he gave it a hard whack with his open palm. It stung. He let out a small shriek, shook his hand and blew on it while he cursed and pulled himself out from under the dashboard.

Marilyn, smoking a menthol Doral, came out of the house and peeked into the garage. As she watched Dan shake his sore hand, she came over for a closer look.

"Do you need a different tool?" Marilyn asked.

"You have to learn to appreciate fine craftsmanship."

"I do, when I can find it. Are we still doing your trust this week?"

"Yep."

Marilyn took a long deep drag on her cigarette that made her eyes crinkled up.

"Is it because your father was killed in a boating accident?" she asked. "Are you afraid of dying young too or something?"

"He was my age when it happened, Marilyn. I just believe in prudent planning. Don't worry. I'm zipping it all up for you."

Dan kept rubbing his hand. He still couldn't slide the amplifier all the way into the bracket, so he tried some WD-40 spray. That eased it in. He slipped a Steely Dan CD into the disc player and turned it on medium loud. The speakers sounded fine playing the cool and crisp music. The new subwoofer boomed. After a few bars, he turned it off.

"My husband, the electronics wiz. Still going up to Kingman this weekend?"

"Yeah. Got a big sale. All the Quikstops in Kingman. And you know what they charge for gasoline up there."

"Wish I could go."

"Naw," Dan said. "Don't want you to miss your golf game."

Before she turned to leave, Marilyn gave Dan the faintly smug grin that he had begun to detest. He watched his wife disappear back inside the house and wished that she didn't smoke.

As he was feeling underneath the dashboard and along the floorboard to make sure all the connections were secure, he touched something loose and grasped for it. He pulled out a Sundowner Motel matchbook from under the driver's seat. The cover had a shiny green and gold motel sign on it. He frowned and thought for a moment, then shoved the matchbook into his front pants pocket.

The door banged. Dan's five-year-old son Danny dashed into the garage as Dan climbed out of the Miata. Danny had his father's thick black hair but his mother's turquoise eyes.

"Danny!"

Danny made both of his hands into imaginary pistols and started silently shooting his dad.

"You got me! You got me!"

Dan grabbed his stomach in mock wounding.

"You said we're going to get a fudgesicle," Danny said.

Dan picked Danny up.

"Fudgesicle it is."

He carried Danny on his shoulders out of the garage and over to his Thunderbird parked in the driveway as Danny, faintly making "Spkew, spkew" noises, kept shooting the air with his imaginary pistols.

* * *

The conference room was lined on two sides with walnut bookcases filled with green and burgundy law books. A marble-topped conference table surrounded by fat, high-backed black leather chairs sat in the center of the room. The carpet was a thick and tasteful dark burgundy. There was a large window that allowed a fifth floor view of Camelback Mountain surrounded by the sprawl of Phoenix.

Dan wore his new light gray Canali suit and a new red and blue patterned silk tie. His hair was combed straight back and he was freshly shaved, with a touch of Ralph Lauren cologne. He felt good to be dressed up to do the right thing. He gazed out the big window to look at Camelback Mountain and remembered the financial problems his father had left behind when he had died intestate. Although Dan's father had been the prosperous owner of six busy Chevron gas stations, it took Dan's mother several years of probate and judges and lawyers and creditors and accountants to straighten it out, with all the debts and leases and hidden partnerships and unpaid taxes, but she finally did and then set up a trust which Dan received when he turned 25 on the condition that he would use the money to start a business. It was slow at first, but he had picked a new technology and in a few years DanCart, Inc. was converting the old mechanical gasoline pumps to digital, self-pay all over Arizona.

Marilyn bumped Dan's chair when she sat down beside him. She was wearing a dark blue dress with matching shoes and hose. Dan's lawyer, John Nash Clark III, who was a decade older than Dan, wore a bright blue and gold silk tie set off against his dark suit. Dan could smell the lawyer's cologne. Not Ralph Lauren, he thought. Three witnesses-- clerks and secretaries who worked in the law offices-- and a notary had followed them in. All were seated in the leather chairs around the conference table.

Mr. Clark removed a handful of legal documents from a leather-bound folding briefcase and placed them on the table in front of Dan.

"My name is John Nash Clark III, attorney at law, in the City of Phoenix, County of Maricopa, State of Arizona. We are here today to execute this revocable living trust of Daniel Edward Carter. I'd like to thank all the witnesses for coming."

Clark nodded at them.

"Mr. Carter," he continued, "are these documents in fact your revocable living trust, and have you read these documents, and do they accurately reflect your wishes regarding the placing of your estate in trust?"

"Yes."

"Would you please confirm for these witnesses that your intention is that you be trustee and that in the event of your death, your wife, Marilyn Carter, be appointed successor trustee. Further, your wife, Marilyn Carter, is made the beneficiary of your trust until your son Daniel Carter, Jr., reaches the age of 21, at which time your wife and son shall become joint beneficiaries. Your intention is to place all of your real and business property into said trust, your personal property consisting of your home at 123 Alta Mesa Drive and your business property consisting of the 10,000 shares of stock in your corporation, DanCart, of which you are sole stockholder, and that upon your death all of your personal and business property will be conveyed immediately to the trust's beneficiaries, thereby avoiding probate proceedings."

"That is my intention."

"Good, then, Mr. Carter, if you'll initial the bottom of each page, and then these witnesses will sign. . . "

Dan took the pen and initialed every page as Marilyn, John Nash Clark III, and the witnesses watched.

* * *

It started one afternoon on the practice putting green at the Cactus Valley Country Club. It was deadly hot, like every afternoon in the Valley of the Sun between May and October. George had stopped by to have a drink with his wife Barbara after her round of golf, but he had really wanted to see his wife's new golf student and playing partner, Marilyn Carter.

The women had already finished their round. Barbara had shot a 69, but Marilyn had taken more than a ten on each of the first three holes and then had stopped keeping her own score.

Marilyn had only recently been George's patient. Dan had known George from a weekly poker gathering of doctors, lawyers, and businessmen at the country club. He had recommended to Marilyn that she go see George when she had complained about being anxious and depressed all the time.

In Marilyn's case, George had tossed out the professional diagnoses when he realized by the middle of the second session that Marilyn was neither anxious nor depressed, but simply wanted to have a lot of sex with an older, affluent man. After two visits, George referred Marilyn to Dr. Burtoncourt, another psychiatrist who specialized in treating sexual addiction. Since George didn't believe in sexual addiction, he thought Burtoncourt to be a degreed moron, and predicted that Burtoncourt's treatments would only drive Marilyn wild. George knew that wants came from certain needs, and George believed that he had an obligation, in his professional judgment, to give his patients what they needed. If that coincided with his own wants, even better. He had kept doctor-patient confidentiality and had only told Barbara about his referring Marilyn to Dr. Burtoncourt.

George stood at the edge of the green and studied Marilyn, who was practicing putting as Barbara watched closely. Barbara, who was a few years older than Marilyn, was athletic and androgynous. She had short dark hair, an almost flat chest, smooth muscular legs, and a bit of a strut.

Marilyn attempted two eight-foot putts and missed the hole badly each time.

"Keep your wrists and elbows locked," Barbara said. "Use your shoulders as a pendulum. Try again."

Marilyn giggled. "I feel silly all locked up and pendully."

She tried again but her form was still bad. Barbara moved around behind, put her arms around Marilyn and held Marilyn's wrists. Then Barbara swung Marilyn's arms herself and struck the ball true. She pressed herself against Marilyn, but Marilyn ignored it. The putt went in the cup with a pleasant muffled clacking sound.

George clapped.

"Barbara, I think she's getting it," he said. "Marilyn, you're lucky to be getting lessons from the women's city champ."

Barbara let go of Marilyn, who gave George her best smile and swayed her hips once.

"Can we stop for today?" Marilyn asked. "It's so hot my legs are starting to cramp."

"Sure," Barbara said. "You need to drink more fluids while you're on the course."

They walked off the green toward George.

"Do you need a leg massage?" he asked Marilyn.

As Barbara passed him, she spoke under her breath out of Marilyn's ear shot.

"Don't effing touch her," she whispered.

* * *

As soon as he shut the door of the motel room, Marilyn unbuckled George's belt because she liked the shape of the buckle and the metallic and leathery creaking sound of his belt unbuckling. Then she pushed him onto the bed where he lay on his back.

"You're my sexy blond decanter of brandy," George said.

"George, you're so funny," she said.

"Mmmmm."

Marilyn turned on the television but muted the sound. She didn't care which channel was on. With the drapes pulled shut, the television's glow was the only light in the room. On the screen the same handsome young man sat on a beach under palm trees, but Marilyn didn't watch him. She took a roach clip from her cigarette pack.

"George, you said you'd bring some Ecstasy."

"I got busy. I forgot."

Marilyn rubbed his chest.

"You feel so hot," she said. "Do you have a fever?"

"You give it to me."

"Should I turn up the air conditioning?"

"Only if you're too hot."

"George—

"Yes?"

"George, what would you do for me?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"What would you do for me, George?"

"Depends, I guess."

"Depends on what?"

"On what it is," George said.

Marilyn held the roach clip open between her thumb and forefinger, an inch from George's nipple.

"Would you eat a cactus for me?"

"Of course."

"A prickly pear cactus?"

"If you removed the prickles and kept the pear."

"Would you get pierced for me, George?"

"Pierced?"

"Yeah, get a body piercing. Get your nipple pierced."

"Sounds needlessly painful. I'm a bit old for that."

"Oh, but the resulting pleasure--"

Marilyn released the roach clip and its metal teeth clamped George's nipple.

He started to scream and pulled the roach clip off.

"Why did I have to meet you?" he said after he caught his breath.

* * *

The Sundowner Motel was at the far western edge of Phoenix, out on the old two-lane highway, a strip of asphalt-patched concrete running past mostly vacant lots and abandoned buildings. It used to be the main road to Los Angeles, crossing hundreds of miles of desert, but because of Interstate 10 it didn't get much traffic anymore.

Dan drove his Chevy Blazer slowly past the Sundowner's green and gold electric and neon sign that was beaming against the desert sunset. Marilyn's red Miata sat parked in front of the door to Room 11. Near the Miata was parked a black BMW with a personalized license plate, "PsychoDoc." Dan recognized the car of Dr. George Ayers.

Dan parked down the street in a scrap of shade under a dried out palm tree where he could see the rear fender of the Miata. After it got dark, if Marilyn drove by, she wouldn't see him. He rolled his window down part way and sat there sweating as he watched the evening heat make a wavy water mirage a half mile down the highway.

Today was supposed to be Marilyn's day to be playing golf. It was also Dan's day to pick up Danny from school but he had already picked Danny up and dropped him off at his mother's. He had told his mother that he had extra business that evening so he would not be back for his son until late.

He stared through the Blazer's windshield at a spot on the trunk of the nearby palm tree and tried to remember clearly and exactly when and how it had started to go wrong with Marilyn. Nothing came to his mind, but he began to have the feeling that whatever he thought he had been doing right had not been so right.

A week after he turned 25, Dan had opened his DanCart office with his trust money and had called a temporary agency to send over a secretary. The agency sent Marilyn. It happened very fast. At the time the lust had all been too powerful. Marilyn had a kind of curve to her calves that Dan had never seen before. Her looks had been too compelling, her flirting too open, her desire too mad.

During the third day of her working for DanCart, he and Marilyn consummated on his office floor carpet. He still remembered how she had smelled and how the new carpet had smelled. After spending the next weekend together in a hotel room at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, they agreed he had better hire another secretary so he could get his work done. Marilyn moved into his one bedroom apartment and in six months they were married. Dan never met her parents because she said they were dead.

But then after Danny was born, and despite the fact that Dan began to make real money and that they had moved into a large new house in one of the best parts of Phoenix, their burning slowly, slowly, chilled in the same way that in the desert hot metal lying in the sun all day slowly cools off through the night.

He did not know what to do. It was becoming more and more clear that the carnal was all they had. It flared up hot again from time to time, but was brief when it did, which only made the cool part even cooler. Marilyn had dropped hints about his working too many hours for DanCart, but she wildly ran up her credit cards, and did not drop any hints about giving them up. He had hoped that the living trust he had drawn up would prove something important to her as much as it was to save on any possible probate expenses and entanglements. He hoped that proving this something would bring her back. If he did die young, she would get everything anyway. It was funny. Neither mentioned divorce, not even in jest.

Dusk faded into night. Dan started to doze but snapped awake at the sound from down the street of a door slamming. George and Marilyn moved in the half shadows made by the motel's night lamps. They quickly kissed and departed in their separate cars. Marilyn's Miata, headed back toward Phoenix, raced past the parked Blazer. Dan, scrunched low in his seat, watched her through his narrowed, burning eyes.

* * *

Dan liked to drive. On the long road trips across the Arizona desert, he would settle into his Thunderbird and let his mind go. He would think about on the one hand how fast Phoenix was growing, but on the other hand how there would be no Phoenix without air conditioning and refrigeration. He would think about how there would be no Phoenix without the big dams, the Boulder and the Glen Canyon, to generate the electricity to run all the air conditioning and refrigeration, not to mention computers and all the other advanced technology, including his digital gasoline pumps. He wondered whether he should buy stock in some big utility companies.

He liked driving long distances because there were no other responsibilities while driving other than making it to the destination, not running out of gas, and keeping the car on the road. It was one of the things he really liked about his business. His mind could drift and think of nothing, or think through a problem, consciously or half-consciously. Meanwhile the desert rolled by, vast and rocky, subtly changing colors with the movement of the sun and clouds.

It was about 180 miles from Phoenix to Kingman. The highway was mostly two-lane, and passed through only one small town, Wickenburg. The rest was open desert. Some stretches of the road were new and smooth, some old and terribly rough, some long and open, some close and winding. There were vistas where he could see mountains seventy miles away and there were gorges in deep shade with steep walls of red and yellow rock. Sometimes the traffic backed up behind a slow truck and sometimes he could drive for miles going 90 or 100 without running up on any other traffic. Since this was the main highway from Phoenix to Las Vegas, he didn't understand why it had not been made four-lane years ago.

He thought about all of these things, but Marilyn and Dr. George Ayers together at the Sundowner Motel in Room 11 kept coming into his thoughts among all the other things. He was having trouble accepting that this was happening to him. In response, he decided that he could have an affair or two himself-- but it was really too much trouble and only made for a stand off. It's not that he didn't want to do anything about it, it was that he had a lot of other things he would rather do.

Although he craved more, Dan had brought only one bottle of Bass ale with him that he quickly gulped empty. He thought about how pleasurable it was to know that now he could afford to buy all the Bass ale he wanted anytime he wanted it. He also thought about how he had the discipline to know how much he could drink and for how long before his wits would start to go. He knew that lesson to be the most important thing he had learned in Tucson at the University of Arizona.

Dan had taken a marketing class at the U of A with a football player from Compton who called himself Master Bone. At six foot five and 240, Bone was pumped and sculptured. Dan also liked to bet on college football games and had asked Bone lots of questions. He explained it all as a research project for the marketing class.

Dan's bookie was Teddy Hurd, a loud-mouthed TeKe who had found out that Dan was friendly with Bone and that Bone was from Compton.

"Do you know where you find cocoons?" Hurd had asked Dan.

"No, where?"

"Cuh-- Compton."

A few weeks later, after Dan and Teddy had gotten into a drunken shoving match over a now-forgotten bleached blonde at a TeKe keg party, Hurd had refused to pay off on a $500 bet that he owed Dan.

A week later, Dan explained the unpaid debt to Bone and offered to pay him and three of his teammates $100 each to give Teddy Hurd a lesson he would never forget. After Dan told him Hurd's cocoon joke, Bone said sure.

One Wednesday after midnight in the deserted TeKe parking lot, Bone and his posse, wearing black ski masks topped with blue Crips bandanas, jumped Teddy Hurd. Crouching in the dark behind a manzanita bush, Dan had watched from across the street. Hurd had been drinking from a kegger and was staggering around. Bone's posse held Hurd down while Bone waived a 9mm automatic pistol around, touched the barrel briefly to Hurd's head and told him that they ran all the bookies in Tucson and that Teddy Hurd's bookie days were officially over. Hurd didn't know the pistol was not loaded so he pissed in his pants. They shoved and kicked Hurd around and bruised him up, laughing. Dan had guessed that Hurd had been too terrified to scream. He was sure Teddy Hurd never told anyone.

Master Bone played five years in the NFL, then started coaching high school football in southern California. Teddy Hurd graduated magna cum laude from the University of Arizona and went to the Wharton School of Business in Philadelphia where he received his MBA with honors and then went to work for Citibank in New York. Everyone there called him Mr. Hurd.

Dan considered trying to find Master Bone and giving him a call. As he reached Interstate 40 to take the final twenty miles down to Kingman, he decided that it wouldn't be disciplined to pay Bone to pull another college prank that had a doubtful outcome, and that Bone was a good citizen now and would probably blow him off anyway.

* * *

In his garage Dan sat in the Miata, top down. The car's sound system was blasting the Doors. He liked the older stuff. He listened until his favorite Doors song, "The Changeling," was over, then turned it off. It was very quiet. Danny was at a swimming lesson and Marilyn was inside transfixed by The Bold and the Beautiful. For a moment he thought about how good it was that his garage smelled like everyone else's, a mixture of exhaust, oil, dust, sheet rock, and old cardboard boxes, and he felt easy and calm inside.

He had learned after his father died how to be independent. It made him feel detached a lot. His mother had told him it was a fault, his character flaw. He didn't really care. Now his curiosity about Marilyn and George was outweighing any detached feeling. And if the hot jealousy ever came, he knew he had plenty of time to channel it in a certain direction.

Dan removed two small boxes from a plastic bag. From the first, smaller box, he took out a tiny wireless microphone and installed it inside the knob of the stick shift. The microphone was the size of a pencil eraser and was specially made to look like a screw that was holding the knob in place.

From the second box, he removed a miniature video camera that was the size of a pack of chewing gum. He looked into the camera's tiny viewfinder. The seats and dashboard of the Miata were distorted by the wide-angle lens. Everything looked smaller and stretched apart.

Dan snapped a flash card into the camera and scrunched down under the dash. His body twisted and his legs stuck out from the convertible. He wriggled along the bottom of the steering wheel as he worked to install the camera by sliding it into tiny brackets and then screwing it tightly. After he was finished, he shoved the empty boxes and plastic bag under the passenger's seat.

He decided to check the mounting of his mini-camera one more time. Dan's feet were still sticking up when Marilyn came into the garage and yanked on them. Dan started, banging his head under the dashboard, and shouted out a curse. He pulled himself out from underneath the dash, struggled to sit up in the bucket seat, and rubbed his bumped head.

"Don't go and kill yourself right after you sign your trust," Marilyn said.

Dan grimaced. "I said I would take a look at-- "

"Fixing my new sound system."

"That's right."

"Which you just installed last week."

"I did," he said.

"Sounds like it works to me. I can hear it just fine when I'm driving."

"Well, this one channel had an open because the pin plug got pulled out-- don't know how-- you only had three channels plus the subwoofer, you didn't have all five speakers. Couldn't you tell?"

"As long as it works now," Marilyn said.

She went back in the house. Dan's hands were shaking a little as he fished under the passenger seat to remove the empty packaging. He took out a remote control and pushed a button. He looked down and examined his work at the bottom of the steering wheel. A tiny red light was blinking on the installed video camera.

II

On the fringes of the Metro Center parking lot, Marilyn screeched up in her Miata, top down, her car throbbing with the sound of techno rave. She looked at herself in the rear view mirror, saw she was not even sweating, lit a cigarette and killed the music. The radio came on. The announcer said it was 108 degrees.

George had been waiting in his BMW. He slammed the door as he got out and walked up to her.

"You're late. I hate this damned desert heat."

Marilyn laughed out loud at him.

"Then move," she said. "And as your psychiatrist I say you have to get over that hang up you have about time."

When he could see that she was wearing her black miniskirt, George grinned like a small boy and got in the Miata. Marilyn started up before he had the car door shut and roared off.

Several rows across the parking lot, hidden by the landscaped bushes, Dan sat in a rented Ford Taurus with the engine idling to keep the air conditioning cold. He pushed the power control and his window rolled down, the blast of dry heat cutting through his cool air.

"Fucking George," Dan said.

He pulled out to follow them.

Marilyn exited the Metro Center maze and drove west out Peoria Avenue, then turned north onto Highway 60. Dan followed at a discreet distance as Marilyn zoomed out past Sun City, running a red light, and into the open desert. Dan had to wait at the light and then speed to catch up. After a few miles, the Miata slowed and pulled off the road.

Dan slowed too, and parked behind some boulders and small trees. He shut off his engine, took his remote and small headphones, and got out of the Taurus, picking a spot behind some junipers in between car-sized piles of rock. The heat slapped his face. He could see the Miata, parked about two hundred yards ahead, off the side of the road in the shade of some scraggly oak trees. Dan pointed the remote and clicked it. He slipped his earphones on and could hear Marilyn and George talking.

In the Miata, George stared at Marilyn, her tanned legs and her short black dress. She lit a new cigarette and shifted her leg.

"Oww, shit," she said.

"What?"

"I bumped my leg on the steering wheel or something."

"These damned compact Jap convertibles."

As Marilyn tried to look at what her leg had bumped under the steering wheel, George put his hand on her bare thigh. She frowned, then took George's hand as she threw one bare leg over his lap.

"Kiss it where it might bruise."

George obeyed and Marilyn smiled. She rubbed the heel of her foot on something hard she felt in George's pocket.

"What's that?"

"My mini-recorder," George said. He pulled it out. It fit in his hand. "In case I get an idea or remember something I have to do. A lot of doctors carry these around. It's digital now."

Marilyn's smile turned into a giggle.

"Just don't turn it on now," she said, then took a long, languorous drag on her cigarette, and slowly exhaled the smoke. She stared at George as if thinking.

"I think we should kill him," she said.

"Kill him?"

"Yeah. George, I think he's dangerous. He told me this story once. I don't know what he might do if he found out. In fact, he might already know."

* * *

Dan's landscaped, Spanish adobe ranch-style house spread out on the top of a knoll on the northern edge of Phoenix. He had bought it twelve months ago after DanCart, Inc. had posted corporate profits of $300,000 for the year. The house was landscaped with bougainvillea, manzanitas, and mesquite. It had four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a den, a game room, a two-car garage, and inside the red brick wall surrounding the back yard, a terra cotta tile patio and a swimming pool with a Jacuzzi. The wall kept the coyotes and jackrabbits out of the backyard. Nothing but sand, rocks and cactus lay between the back of the house and the mountains.

Dan was out working on his front lawn. Dressed in work clothes, he was finishing digging a hole in his manicured Saint Augustine grass. Beside him sat a crape myrtle sapling with a root ball cover. Danny stood close by, watching.

"Anything worth doing is only worth doing right," he said to Danny.

Dan put his spade down and opened a bag of mulch, which he emptied evenly into the hole. He wrestled the sapling into position down in the hole and set the sapling level. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He cut the cord holding the root ball and gently pulled the burlap cover back. Then he backfilled more of the hole with mulch, tamping down the soil with his foot while he held the tree upright with his left hand. He turned on the garden hose and filled the hole with water.

Marilyn drove up and whipped into the driveway. The Miata's sound system was screaming the same techno rave music. She parked next to Dan's Blazer, snuffed her engine and the rave music, and hopped out. She was wearing a short slinky red dress and held a hat-sized box in her hands. She smiled as she crossed the lawn towards Dan and Danny. Dan wiped his hands on his work jeans.

Marilyn patted the box.

"Authentic Anasazi," she said. "One thousand dollars."

"Anna Stazzi?" Danny said.

"What the hell is Anasazi?" Dan asked.

"Come in and I'll show you," she said.

Dan left the hose on a trickle to water his crape myrtle and followed his wife and son inside their house where the air conditioning hit him with a refreshing chill. He thought about the two bottles of Bass ale left in the refrigerator.

Marilyn led them into the dining room and opened the box on the art deco dining table she had insisted on buying. From the box, she pulled out a folded cloth and unwrapped it. She spread the cloth on the table and arranged several potsherds that had been folded inside. The potsherds were beige fragments about the size of postcards and had broad black stripes painted in zig-zags on one side of them.

"Anasazi means 'Ancient Ones,'" Marilyn said.

"Some of these stripes are crooked and some are straight," Danny said.

He reached out to pick up one of the potsherds.

"Don't touch, honey."

He jerked his small hand back, but still watched, curious.

"A thousand dollars just for these broken pieces of old pottery?" Dan asked.

He also reached for a fragment.

"No! Your hands are dirty."

He stopped and self-consciously wiped his hands on his work shirt.

"I don't know," he said. "It's not right, robbing Indian graves."

"I'm not robbing graves. These are found by treasure hunters in the kivas at 12th century Anasazi Indian pueblo sites which the public has access to."

"It's probably illegal and I don't like it. I wish you'd get another hobby."

"I've got a tip that there's a site where I could find a whole, perfect, pristine Anasazi pot," Marilyn said.

"Where?"

"In a kiva up at Lake Powell."

Marilyn rewrapped the potsherds in the cloth and placed them back in the box.

"My collector in L.A. is offering me $10,000 for a pristine pot," she said. "You could come along and go fishing on the lake."

She waited for a response. Dan said nothing.

"We could find a kiva," she continued, "maybe do something kinky-- "

"What's kinky mean?" Danny asked.

"I know," Marilyn said. "We could ask George and Barbara to go up with us. Barbara always told me she wanted to go up to Lake Powell." She paused, as if recalling something important. "I think," she said, "that Barbara mentioned to me one time that one of George's doctor friends keeps a houseboat up there and lets other doctors use it on weekends. George has been one of your poker buddies for three years. If we went up, you and George could play poker all night."

"Who are these people, these collectors?" Dan asked.

"They're people who have everything-- except a pristine relic of 12th century Anasazi civilization."

* * *

Dan, dressed in a polo shirt, sat in John Nash Clark III's conference room at the marble table with Mr. Clark, who was also dressed less formally than at the trust signing. A copy of Dan's trust, unfolded out of its leather backing, lay in front of the lawyer.

"I want to draft a new trust," Dan said.

"You can make a new trust at any time, revoking the previous trust."

"I don't want Marilyn to know."

"You don't have to tell anybody. You can do whatever you want."

"I want to set up a trust for my son, Danny. I want everything I have to go into that trust, and I want my bank to be the trustee until Danny reaches the age of 21. Marilyn is to receive nothing."

"I'm just the lawyer. You're the client. If you want to do it, and it's legal, I'll see it's done. And a trust with your son as beneficiary is legal."

"I want to change the beneficiary on my life insurance, too."

"You'll have to do that."

Dan fidgeted with the trust papers and took a deep breath. He spoke while staring at a black whirl in the marble table.

"Could you get some information on my wife?"

"What kind?"

"I want to know if she's done some things in the past I don't know about."

"Such as?"

"Such as starting with anything you can find."

"Sure," Clark said. He gave Dan his faintest smile. "We can start with public records. For other things in the not-as-public record I have a good private investigator I work with."

"Good."

"What do you want?"

"Make it anything and everything you can turn up."

"It may run you up to $1,000, even over $2,000 if I have to call Harley."

"Do it."

"I'll need Marilyn's date of birth, Social Security number, and maiden name."

"Her maiden name is Jackson. I'll find out the other stuff and get back to you."

"Fine. Call me in about a week in case Harley has to get this and by then I should have something. Has something come up?"

Dan slid a small, sealed padded mailer across the table toward Clark. The words "fragile-- data" were stamped on the package. On the mailer was also handwritten: "To be opened upon my instruction or in the event of my death."

"Should I know what's in this?" Clark asked.

"Home movies," Dan said. "I'd like to sign and notarize that statement, have it wax-sealed with the notary's seal, and have you place it in your safe."

"Fine. I can do that." Clark paused. "Dan, is this something that maybe you should talk to the police about?"

Dan liked it that Clark's expression or voice inflection never changed. Dan shook his head very slightly from side to side, "no."

"If you'll draw that new trust up now," Dan said, "I'll sign it."

"It'll be ready in one hour."

Dan took the old trust in his hands and ripped it out of its leather backing and into small pieces.

* * *

On his bedroom computer, Dan played the video of George and Marilyn's meeting in the Miata. The angle of the camera showed Marilyn's miniskirt and her leg splayed over George's lap. There was a clear shot of her white and red polka dot panties. The wide-angle lens distorted their bodies and made Marilyn's and George's faces look remote and tiny. Dan sat on the edge of his king bed and watched.

"I think we should kill him," Marilyn said.

"Kill him?"

"Yeah. George, I think he's dangerous. He told me this story once. I don't know what he might do if he found out. In fact, he might already know."

"No, Marilyn, he couldn't."

"Then that's an even better reason to do it," Marilyn said. "That way we'll make sure he never knows."

"Why do we have to kill him?"

"He's crazy, especially when he's drunk. I don't know what he might do if he found out. You're a psychiatrist. Think about it."

Dan clicked off the video, surprised at how sharp the picture was and how well the tiny microphone had worked. He looked over to a glossy studio portrait of Marilyn, Danny and himself that sat on the top of a dresser. It had been taken one year ago. She had her good smile in that picture, he thought.

It had turned out that Marilyn was right about the other doctor's houseboat being kept up at the lake. Dan had his new Briggs & Riley luggage bag open on the bed and was packing for the Lake Powell trip. His Eddie Bauer sports clothes lay folded inside the bag. He had brought in his Shakespeare fishing rod and reel and his tackle box from the garage and double-checked those.

In the bathroom he looked at his stubble in the medicine cabinet mirror. He shook his can of Edge and pressed on the button. It fizzed air, but no shaving cream came out. It was empty. Dan stared in the mirror, then picked up a tube of Colgate, squeezed some toothpaste into his hands, and rubbed his hands together. He brought his hands up as if to spread the toothpaste on his face to use as shaving cream, but then stopped, decided not to, and washed his hands off.

Dan, scratching his stubble, returned to the bedroom. He turned on the video again and sat down on the bed.

"I've seen him drunk, when we play poker-- " George trailed off. "Well, I don't want to get caught."

"The people on television that try stuff like this get caught because they always do something stupid. We won't do anything stupid."

"Does he have much life insurance?"

"A half a million. I'm the beneficiary."

"They always look at the life insurance," George said. "Why don't you just file for a divorce? DanCart must be worth a million dollars. You'd get at least half."

"He's crazy. He'd fight it. He'd change the trust. The lawyers would get half of it. He'd get private detectives on us. He'd get custody of Danny. I can't let him get Danny. And if he's dead, I'll get all of his estate anyway through the trust."

"I just don't like it. Dan's not stupid."

"Come on, George. Don't you have the guts? How long have we been together?"

"458 days. I keep count."

" **Then let's do it right."**

Marilyn took a drag on the last of her cigarette and mashed it out on the stick shift, making a scraping noise on the microphone.

"It'll have to be an accident," George said.

Marilyn leaned close to George as she rubbed his thigh and worked her hand up towards his bulge.

"An accident," she said. "We could do that."

"If we do it, we're not going to get caught."

"No way. Think-- what could we do?"

"Well, I have thought about it," George said. He looked at her as if she should be proud of him. "We'll take a vacation together. The four of us-- you and Dan, Barbara and me. We'll go up to the lake, we'll get Dan real drunk, slip him some barbital, and we'll push him in, and he'll drown, and it'll be an accident, and then it'll be over."

"What if he doesn't drown?"

"I'll make sure he does."

" **What if they find the barbital in his body at an autopsy?"**

" **I'll prescribe you some barbital only it'll be found in Dan's bags." George checked his watch. "I have to get back to the hospital."**

He slipped his hand up Marilyn's thigh under her skirt, searching for what was beneath her polka dot panties.

A door slammed inside the house. Dan's heart thumped as he fumbled around until he clicked the screen back to desktop. Danny's excited voice echoed in another room, growing louder. Danny burst into the bedroom, Marilyn following, and ran over to Dan.

"Daddy! I'm going to grandma's for a whole week! She said I could eat a grape jelly sandwich every day!"

Dan laughed and picked his son up and twirled him.

"Are you going to miss daddy and mommy?"

"No."

"Danny, of course you are."

"Of course I am!"

"Of course you are," Dan said. "And next year I'll take you along and teach you how to fish."

Danny made a face.

"Fish are smelly."

"Time to go to grandma's," Marilyn said.

"Give daddy a kiss," Dan said.

Danny hesitated.

"How about a hug instead?"

Danny gave Dan a hug, then jumped down, pantomimed his imaginary pistols shooting, and ran out of the bedroom.

"I don't know about this trip," Dan said. "From what George drops at country club poker, I thought he and Barbara were having problems. How many wives has that man had, anyway?"

"Barbara's his fourth."

"I'm just going because I think it might be amusing."

Marilyn started rummaging through Dan's bag, then flipped the lid closed on his tackle box.

"I told you not to bring this filthy tackle box into the bedroom," she said. "And are you going to shave?"

"It's not filthy and I'm out of shaving cream."

"Jesus Christ, Dan, aren't you going to shave at all? I can't stand it when your beard scratches me."

"Scratches you where, Marilyn? It hasn't scratched you in six months. Don't you itch anymore?"

"Not since that little orgy you had with Liz—is that her name?"

"She's no longer at the office. That was a non-recurring phenomenon."

"Let's get going," Marilyn said. "We'll stop for your shaving cream."

"I'm not finished packing. Go on."

Danny poked his head back in the bedroom.

"Come on, mommy!"

Dan waited until he heard the Miata start up and back out. He was glad Danny was going over to his mother's. He was also glad he had removed the microphone from the gear shift and the video camera from the bottom of the steering wheel the day after he recorded Marilyn and George. He had stomped on all of it to smash it and then had thrown it in a dumpster somewhere in south Phoenix.

While he made a copy of George and Marilyn onto a DVD, Dan rummaged far in the back of his walk-in closet, pulling out his old Sony video camera, a tripod, and some digital tapes. Far in the back on a high shelf, behind his old boxes of VHS tapes and photos, he found his Smith & Wesson .38 revolver and two boxes of shells. The .38 had belonged to his father, who had kept it at one of his south Phoenix Chevron stations just in case. Dan had made sure it was always cleaned and oiled. He popped open the cylinder on the revolver and spun it. It was unloaded. He snapped the cylinder back. His father had taught him for safety's sake to never carry or pack a loaded weapon. He placed the revolver and the boxes of shells in a special small black bag, then packed everything into his luggage bag. When the DVD was done, he put that in too, and on top he tossed in a folded map of Lake Powell.

* * *

George and Barbara Ayers lived in a new, gated community called Paradise Ridge, just down the road from the country club. Their house was a radiant white with a Spanish tile roof, identical to the dozen others on their circular street. The house had high vaulted ceilings with an ebony Steinway baby grand in the living room that George tinkled on, a six hundred square foot master bedroom, three bathrooms each with a Jacuzzi, and a half-acre back yard with a swimming pool.

Barbara emerged from the garage with her golf bag hefted over one shoulder and carrying a large canvas bag full of golf balls. She took both bags over to her new silver Acura, which was parked next to George's black BMW. Barbara started to open the Acura's trunk.

"Barbara!"

She stopped. George dashed out of the front door and walked swiftly across the lawn.

"We're taking Dan's car. He just called and he's on his way over."

"You didn't tell me, George."

"How can you hit golf balls off a houseboat?"

"From the roof. I'm bringing my practice mat and Dan's bringing his video camera. He's going to record my swing. I want to get something constructive done while I'm up there. I've been hitting my irons slightly fat and I can't figure out why."

Barbara took a seven iron out of her golf bag, spread several golf balls across the front lawn and started chipping towards a mimosa sapling at the other end of the lawn.

"You know if you worked as hard on getting a better teaching job as you did on your golf game, you might make a living at it," George said.

His beeper went off. He studied the telephone number on the LED, then pulled a cell phone out of his hip pocket and made a phone call.

"This is Dr. Ayers. . . " he said into his cell phone. "What time was this? . . Give five milligrams Haldol every six hours and turn her over to Dr. Shepard. I'm leaving town for a week. Yes. . . Bye."

George folded the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Are you leaving that damn beeper at home?" Barbara asked.

She chipped another golf ball toward the sapling where it bounced up and squarely struck the sapling's trunk.

"I intend to," George said. "I want to get as far away from civilization as possible." He stepped toward her, as if to put his arm around her. "Barbara-- "

"I told you to keep your hands off Marilyn."

Barbara took a full back swing and almost hit George in the face with the club head of the seven iron. He jumped back. The golf ball landed over a hundred yards away in the middle of the street and bounded high off the concrete roadway as Dan was driving up in his Thunderbird convertible. The golf ball made an arc over the T-Bird's hood, narrowly missed the windshield, and made a clicking sound as it skipped on toward the gatehouse.

* * *

It was 106 degrees on Interstate 17, so Dan drove the T-Bird with the top up and the air conditioning one notch below high. Except for Barbara, they were all drinking pint cans of Foster's beer. They drank steadily as the interstate rose in elevation, while the saguaro cacti forest thinned and disappeared, replaced by junipers and small pines. The temperature slowly cooled.

"We should go through Oak Creek Canyon," Marilyn said when she saw the exit sign. "It's scenic."

"Negatore," Dan said.

"It'll be cooler."

"The faster we get to Flagstaff, the cooler it will get."

"Ask George or Barbara if they want to stop," Marilyn said.

"There's too damn much traffic through Sedona. We'll be stuck there for two hours."

"Maybe next time," Barbara said.

"George?" Marilyn asked.

"I stay out of marital disputes," George said.

The interstate kept climbing, then dead ended at Flagstaff, which lay in a Ponderosa pine forest at the base of Mount Humphrey. It was nearly thirty degrees cooler in Flagstaff than in Phoenix and the air smelled of pine and limestone dust.

They stopped for lunch at the Sizzler, which was crowded with a tour bus load full of Japanese men, all dressed in dark business suits, who were on their way to the Grand Canyon. After lunch, Dan drove through town with the T-Bird's windows rolled down. A thunderstorm was moving through the mountains to the north and the air began to smell like dusty rain.

Once through Flagstaff, Dan followed Highway 89 as it skirted the eastern base of Mount Humphrey and wound deeply into the forest. As the highway curved north, the storm seemed to chase after them. Soon the pine trees began to thin out and then disappeared while the landscape slowly changed into the Painted Desert. The storm broke up in the desert ahead so they were never rained on. It began to warm up again, but not as scorching as before.

Dan stopped to put his convertible top down.

"Hope you don't mind," he said. "Tired of the A/C."

"I prefer nature myself," George said. "If it's not too hot."

The desert sky was a deep blue with scattered puffy white clouds. Thousands of sagebrush dotted the lumpy, swirling rock formations of vermillion, ocher and gray. The view stretched for sixty miles to the east, to the mesas and mountains inside the Navajo reservation. Heat waves made the road ahead look as if it were flooded.

Barbara sat holding the video camera in the front seat, recording Dan's driving and the passing desert. Dan picked up a Flagstaff FM station playing Led Zeppelin's "The Lemon Song," but it soon faded out, so he switched the radio off.

They opened more cans of Foster's. Barbara took one. The alcohol at that elevation hit them fast and they began almost shouting to hear themselves through the rushing wind.

"I think Led Zeppelin IV was their greatest album," Marilyn said. "You know, the one with 'Stairway to Heaven' on it."

"If I have to hear 'Stairway to Heaven' once more in this lifetime-- " Dan began.

"Led Zeppelin I is their best album," Barbara said. "After that, they only repeated themselves, only not as good."

"What's a lead zeppelin?" George asked.

"I think IV was also called Zofo," Marilyn said. "The word Zofo has mystical significance in Celtic mythology. I used to have the cassette. Dan says I should buy the CD of it for the player in my Miata."

"Actually, the first cut on Led Zeppelin I contains the entire essence of Led Zeppelin," Dan said. "They only repeated themselves endlessly after that."

"Really, Dan, I agree, the first twenty seconds of 'Good Times Bad Times' says it all," Barbara said. "Everything else after that was just a footnote."

"You're right," Dan said.

He turned to Barbara, winked at her and took a long swill of beer for the video camera.

"I brought some CD's if you want to listen," Dan said. "They're in there."

Barbara opened the glove compartment and began looking through Dan's CD's, still holding the camera and video taping the CD cases as she sorted through them.

"Morning Star, Muzsikas and Marta Sebestyen," Barbara read. "The voice of The English Patient."

"What an awful movie," Marilyn said. "That Kristen Scott-Thomas was a real bitch. I'm glad she died."

"I love that first song on there, 'Wedding in Fuzes Village,'" Dan said. "That Hungarian stuff sounds like demented Irish music. It sounds like it's about to go out of control at any moment. I like that."

"I hate it," Marilyn said.

"Deep in the Heart of Tuva: Cowboy Music from the Wild," Barbara said. "It has a booklet. . . "

"You've never heard anything like it," Dan said. "From Tuva, which is next to Mongolia. It's good desert music."

"It's dreadful," Marilyn said. "It's like amplified crickets and frogs."

"Kind of Blue, Miles Davis."

"Play the Miles Davis," George said.

"I've heard that one," Barbara said. "I'm still looking. . . The Ondekoza."

"Wild Japanese drumming with these huge bass drums," Dan said. "It kicks ass."

"Instant migraine is what it is," Marilyn said. "Can't we listen to something new and good?"

"Don't you have any Bach?" George asked. "The Brandenburg Concertos, maybe?"

"Bach's too icy," Barbara said.

"Well, it cools you down in the hot old desert," George said.

"It's my hobby," Dan said. "Collecting little known music."

"New Orleans Piano Wizard: Live! James Booker," Barbara read the case.

"He's the greatest piano player who ever lived," Dan said.

"Bull shit, Dan," George snorted. "Ignacy Jan Paderewsky was the greatest pianist who ever lived. Who the hell is James Booker?"

"Booker could play all of Paderewsky's shit, but Paderewsky couldn't touch Booker's shit. Play James Booker."

"I thought Horowitz was the greatest pianist," Barbara said.

"George, don't you know the difference between a piano player and a pianist?" Dan asked. "A piano player plays by ear, but a pianist plays too much with his penis." Dan snapped his fingers. "Damn!"

"What?"

"I just remembered I left my Israel Kamakawiwo'ole CD at home."

"Israel Kawawho-- ee?"

"He's this very fat Hawaiian singer Dan plays all the time," Marilyn said. "Guy weighs 600 pounds and wears a muumuu."

"He'll make you cry he's so good," Dan said. "He was the greatest living singer in the world but he died."

"Everything you like is the greatest this or that," Marilyn said.

"How'd he die?" George asked.

"He went into the hospital to lose weight," Dan said, "but he gorged on pork and poi when the doctors weren't looking. He ate himself to death."

"Dan, where do you learn all of this?" Barbara asked.

"It's my hobby."

George cracked open two more beers and passed one to Dan. The T-Bird swerved across the centerline as Dan took a long gulp. He noticed three white crosses, each about three feet high, stuck into the ground ahead a few yards off the road. On a long, straight, deserted stretch, Dan parked his T-Bird on the gravel shoulder near two more white crosses planted beside the highway.

"Rest stop," he announced and tossed his beer can across the highway, beer spraying out. "Guess I should've finished it first."

"I can't go here," Marilyn said. "There's no restrooms."

"Come on," Barbara said. "I'll watch out for rattlesnakes."

They all clambered out. There was no traffic. The wind sweeping through the sagebrush made a sound like far off ocean waves.

"I sure am glad you suggested this trip, George," Dan said.

"I suggested it," Marilyn said.

"I'm feeling more relaxed already," George said and threw his empty beer can away.

"Hey George, did you bring your deck of cards and a wad of bills to lose?" Dan asked.

"We've played poker together for three years, and you hardly ever beat me."

"Don't you think Dan looks like a beggar with his stubbly beard?" Marilyn said.

"No, I like it," George said. "Why don't you grow your beard out while we're on the lake?"

Dan felt the sweat on his forehead and rubbed his face.

"I think I'll try for a new image. I'll look older and wiser."

Barbara grabbed Marilyn and they started to do a Boris and Natasha routine.

"Dah-link!" Barbara said.

They embraced.

"Dah-link!" Marilyn said. "You vill protect me from zee vrattlesnakes and zee scorpions?"

"I vill, dah-link."

They started giggling and pretending they were kissing.

"Oooo, Barbara, you drive me vild," Marilyn said in a Russian accent.

"Me, too, dah-link."

George leaned close to Dan.

"The only club and balls that Barbara likes to fondle are in her golf bag," George said so only Dan could hear.

George glanced at Marilyn. She licked her lips so only he could see her.

"Did you know George is afraid of the water?" Barbara said. "I don't know why he wanted to go out on the lake."

"George, can't you swim?" Dan said.

"Hey, I'm dealing with my phobia, just like I tell my patients. I'm just going to go out there and do it."

"I think that's admirable," Marilyn said.

"And if I get into trouble, I know you can help me."

"I understand those houseboats have everything," Dan said, "including TV's, so Barbara can study the video I make of her golf swing right there."

"Dr. Danforth told me his boat's a beaut," George said. "It's forty by fourteen with all-aluminum decks and all-aluminum walls."

Barbara trained the video camera on Dan and George as they walked out through the sagebrush.

"You ought to get us a video camera, George," Barbara called. "They're a lot of fun."

George gave her the finger. Barbara put her arm around Marilyn again and they went off together on the opposite side of the road.

* * *

The highway became rougher and began to wind through fifty-foot high smooth gravel mounds, layered gray and vermillion. Every few miles a single white cross or a cluster of crosses stood beside the road. Traffic began to appear, then back up, string out and slow down to a crawl. Sheriff's vehicles and ambulances with sirens wailing and lights flashing blew past the line of traffic. In two more miles they topped a rise and saw the accident.

A number of vehicles had pulled off to the side of the highway and people had gotten out to look. The sheriff's vehicles and ambulances had just pulled up and one deputy was striding past scattered luggage, clothes, cooler, toys, and groceries towards the old pick up, which was lying on its side, fifty yards off the highway, its camper shell smashed, its front tire still spinning. A Navajo woman and two children wandered among their strewn belongings, bent over and stumbling, looking dazed, and pointing to the pick up's cab. The deputy climbed up onto the side of the pick up and opened the door, motioning for the paramedics to come.

"Pull over, pull over," Marilyn said.

"Don't be morbid," Barbara said.

"Aren't you a doctor?" Dan asked George.

"The paramedics have better training than I do in trauma and they have all the necessary equipment and medications," George said. "I can't do much."

"George hates the sight of blood," Barbara said.

"Give me the video camera, then," Marilyn said.

Dan took a final glance and kept driving.

* * *

A bright yellow and red billboard with big black letters proclaimed NICE INDIANS AHEAD. Just before the highway began its one thousand foot climb up the side of the Echo Cliffs, there were cars, pick ups and four-wheelers clustered around several road side stands that sold Navajo souvenirs.

"Stop here!" Marilyn called. "Stop here!"

"It's a tourist trap." Dan said.

"Oh, stop, Dan," Barbara said. "We're tourists. We're white. We have money. We're supposed to be trapped."

"Yeah," George said. "Pay back."

Dan slowed down and pulled over. He remembered the Navajo peddlers beside the road from his boyhood. There were no billboards then, no stands with tin roofs and counters, just old Navajo women sitting beside the highway between the sagebrush in the desert sun with their turquoise jewelry and kachina dolls spread out on blankets. Now younger Navajo women smiled and joked with the white people from Phoenix, New York, and Germany who were looking over the merchandise. Navajo men wearing black Stetsons with silver and turquoise hat bands lounged near by, leaning against their new black Chevy pick ups, talking among themselves in Navajo and sometimes chuckling, the subject of their conversation no doubt their customers.

Dan stayed in the T-Bird as the others got out and headed for the jewelry stands. He made a wager with himself that Marilyn wouldn't buy anything for Danny. He watched her wander from counter to counter, picking over the offerings, engaging the merchants in smiling banter. She tried on several bracelets and necklaces, consulted with Barbara and George, then chose a turquoise necklace that almost matched her eyes. She put it around her neck and returned to the T-Bird.

"How do you like my new genuine Navajo turquoise necklace?"

Marilyn held out the polished turquoise stone in its silver setting.

"The chain is a heavy gauge silver so it won't break easily," she said. "And they even took Visa!"

"Did you get anything for Danny?" Dan asked.

Marilyn's face clouded for an instant, then cleared.

"Oh, he wouldn't want any of these trinkets," she said. "All this stuff is for girls."

Dan got out of the T-Bird and made sure to slam his door before he went over to the nearest souvenir stand. After two minutes of rummaging, he decided to buy Danny a T-shirt of an Anasazi pictograph, an eight-layered spiral that represented the sun.

* * *

The drive up the side of Echo Cliffs was so steep that even the T-Bird's V-8 engine strained near the top. Off to the west and several thousand feet below, the Colorado River cut through Marble Canyon. Looking back at the river from the road going up the cliff was like looking out from a climbing airplane. Dan threw a beer can out to watch it disappear over the cliff.

When they reached the top, the highway stretched across a long, rolling scrub mesa with mountains in the distance. They passed a sheriff's big Jeep four-wheeler that had pulled over a Range Rover with California license plates. Dan suddenly felt drunker, so he eased off the gas pedal and concentrated on driving straight. He noticed the officer turned from his peering into the Range Rover and looked over to watch the Thunderbird go by.

* * *

The town of Page, Arizona sat on a round-topped mesa that overlooked Lake Powell. Dan stayed on the highway, bypassed town, and followed the swooping curve of the road out towards the lake. It had taken nearly five hours from Phoenix with the stops for lunch and souvenirs, and they all felt cramped and stiff. Before they reached the dam, Dan stopped at an overlook on the east side of the lake.

They got out and gazed on the Glen Canyon Dam and on Lake Powell, which was a sprawling sheet of blue jaggedly spread to the northern horizon between the gray-blue desert cliffs. It was late afternoon and the sun was bright in their eyes. They could only see the top of the dam peeking above the gorge. On the west side of the dam stood three tall girded metal electrical towers. Behind the tall towers were dozens of smaller ones that carried electric lines leading up and over a large hill and on south toward Phoenix and Las Vegas and Los Angeles. Beyond the towers rose a small round-top mountain, and beyond that the land flattened out where the road wound to the northwest on over to Wahweap Marina down at the lakeshore.

Dan drove across the arched two-lane metal bridge that spanned the canyon south of the dam. Big trucks crossing ahead and behind them made the bridge vibrate. The bridge looked impossibly weak and thin, but offered a close view of the dam below and to the right. The dam rose six hundred feet high between the cliffs, creating Lake Powell and backing up the Colorado River to the north for two hundred miles. The dam had a convex concrete wall. At the bottom was the power plant where the water came through to spin the turbines. Below the dam the river was a tongue of dark green and looked as placid as a glacier. From there, the Colorado River flowed southwest through a narrow, steep canyon for another hundred miles, then cut back to the west as the gap suddenly widened and formed the Grand Canyon.

After crossing the bridge, which seemed to him almost like flying, Dan parked in the lot next to the saucer-shaped Hayden Visitor Center. A number of people clustered and milled about inside the visitor's center, studying the wildlife and historical exhibits and the large-scale model of the dam and the lake.

At the information desk Dan thumbed through a pamphlet and noticed a reference to ARPA-- the Archaeological Resources Protection Act. The pamphlet stated that only a few archaeological sites around the lake area were open for public use. Others were closed, meaning that they may be observed and photographed, but not touched or disturbed in any other way. He stuck the pamphlet in his pocket to show to Marilyn.

They followed the signs to the elevator, got in, and rode the elevator that went down what seemed like twenty stories to the top of the dam. Only a handful of other people were out on the dam platform when the four of them strolled out. Everyone except Barbara was still a little drunk.

From behind the chest-high concrete retaining wall, they leaned over and gazed six hundred feet down towards the bottom of the dam to the power plant, which had a wide, green roof planted with grass. There were faint sounds of the humming turbines and electrical towers and the whoosh of the water jetting out at the bottom of the dam. The calm water below the dam was inky black. A few hundred yards farther below the dam, a line of two dozen river rafts clung to the wall of the canyon.

"I wonder how long it would take for someone to fall to the bottom if they slipped?" Marilyn said.

"Or were pushed," George said.

"Didn't Hitchcock make a movie about pushing someone off this dam?" Barbara asked.

"It was the Boulder Dam," George said.

"Who got pushed off?" Dan said.

"Who did the pushing?" Barbara asked. "Do you remember, George?"

"I feel drunk when I look down," Marilyn said.

"Don't get too drunk," Dan said. "You might slip and fall."

"I think it was Cary Grant who pushed Robert Taylor," George said.

"No. It was a James Bond movie," Dan said. "Diamonds Are Forever."

"Bullshit," George said. "It was a Hitchcock movie. North By Northwest."

"Bullshit yourself. Sean Connery pushed Jimmy Dean off the Boulder Dam in a James Bond movie."

"I thought James Dean was dead before then," Marilyn said.

"Jimmy Dean. Pork sausages. Different guy." Dan said. "Not James Dean."

"You're so full of shit, Dan. I know my Hitchcock movies."

"George, you've been drinking." Barbara said.

"Well, you don't know your Hitchcock movies or your James Bond movies," Dan said. "It was Diamonds Are Forever, and don't ever tell me I'm full of shit."

"Fuck you," George said. "You are full of shit. I'll bet you a hundred dollars it's a Hitchcock movie."

"A hundred dollars-- is that all? That's nothing if you're so sure."

Dan gave George a shove. George shoved back, harder, and Dan knocked into the concrete wall. George lunged at Dan. They grappled and fell hard against the concrete wall, grunting as they wrestled clumsily, their torsos bent over onto the top of the wall. A family pointed at them, but other people acted as if they didn't see anything. Barbara and Marilyn grabbed at them and tried to pull them back. All four were leaning over the top of the wall. Dan felt dizzy looking at the green roof six hundred feet below.

"All right, I'll bet a thousand dollars!" George shouted.

"I'll bet my wife!" Dan shouted back.

Barbara pulled George away from Dan as they stumbled to the ground, breathing hard.

"You're crazy!" George shouted.

"The rangers will come and throw us out," Barbara called.

Marilyn started running toward the elevator. Dan, breathing heavily, leaned against the concrete wall.

"You should prescribe yourself some drugs and calm down," he said to George.

George's beeper went off as he struggled to his feet.

"A thousand dollars," he said.

"It's a bet," Dan said.

"You said you'd leave that goddamn thing at home," Barbara said.

"I forgot."

George reached for his beeper, still looped to his belt.

"That thing have this much range?" Dan asked.

"From the Four Corners to the sea and to T.J. and back."

As George was trying to read the phone number on his beeper, Barbara lunged and took the beeper away from him. She hurled it over the side of the dam. They all peered over the side and watched as the beeper fell and fell down the convex wall of the dam until it became a tiny black speck. The beeper landed on the green roof of the powerhouse and became invisible.

"Don't lie to me," Barbara said.

"Christ, Barbara. That cost me money."

"Just overbill Medicare."

III

Wahweap Marina lay below Wahweap Lodge, along the southern and eastern shore of Wahweap Bay. Across the bay, tan colored buttes, dominated by Castle Rock, rose three hundred feet above the lake. Wahweap Lodge sat on the water's edge, its restaurant overlooking the lake and offering a clear view of Castle Rock and other large buttes.

There were dozens of houseboats tied up in long rows along the marina's docks. Dan whipped his T-Bird down a bumpy incline to a dirt parking lot, and stopped near the ramps that led onto the docks. Dan and George got out and crossed a long wooden pontoon walking bridge out to the marina's service shack, which was made of wooden planks and corrugated tin.

An Indian sat in a swing on the shack's shaded front porch. To Dan, the man didn't look like a Navajo. He wore sunglasses and a big flat-brimmed black hat. He also had a walking cane, and was playing "Ain't Gonna Rain No More" on his Guild guitar. Without stopping playing, he nodded as Dan and George went inside.

Inside, a tall, balding redneck sat behind the counter, chewing on a toothpick and reading Hustler. Boxes of fishing gear and lures filled the wall shelves. Fishing trophies were mounted on the walls in between pictures of houseboats and scenes of Lake Powell. The man stopped his reading and looked up at Dan and George.

"We're here to take out Dr. Danforth's houseboat," George said. "He called ahead. My name is Dr. George Ayers."

"I imagine that can be arranged. And call me Big Jack. Everybody but my wife calls me that. You old boys ever taken a houseboat out on Lake Powell before?"

"No."

"Well, you're going to have more fun than a barrel full of monkeys."

"We want it for three days."

"That could be arranged."

"Do you have the boat ready?" George asked. "Dr. Danforth said you'd make all the arrangements."

"We'll have it ready at eight in the morning. Good enough?"

"I guess so," George said. "Which one is it?"

"Oh, it's way out on dock G. The forty foot blue and white Myacht."

"Mind if I go look?"

"Why, no. Hell, you can sleep out there tonight if you want."

"The wife won't let me," George said. "What do people do on houseboats?"

"Anything thing you can imagine," Big Jack said. "But you have to provide your own sex. At eight o'clock in the morning we'll put you on the boat and I'll review procedures with you at that time."

"Want to come look, Dan?"

"Yeah," Dan said, "but I have to call the office first. Business."

George headed down the docks for a look at Dr. Danforth's houseboat. Dan followed George outside, but waved him on. Dan wandered along the dock away from George until he found some dock space where no one was around and used his cell phone to call John Nash Clark III's office. Clark was in and the receptionist put Dan through.

"What have you found out about Marilyn?"

"Dan, are you ready?"

"Give it to me."

Clark retrieved the file and came back to the phone.

"First I came up with verification of Marilyn's date of birth and Social and maiden. It was clean but I decided to call Harley anyway. He checked some more. Found out a female named Marilyn Jackson with the same date of birth had died at age four in Emporia, Kansas in a car wreck. We've sent for a copy of the girl's death certificate and any articles on car crashes and obituaries around those dates from the Emporia newspaper."

"So what's it mean?"

"It means there's a lot more, Dan." Clark paused. "You sure you don't want me to give you this in person?"

"Give me what you can now. I'll see you as soon as I can. Right now I'm up here at Lake Powell with Marilyn and another couple."

"Then be careful, Dan."

"Oh yeah?"

"Harley put a message out on a private investigator network, asking if anybody knew of any cases of a missing or wanted female matching Marilyn's general description."

"And?"

"He got several replies and one might be something."

"Yes?"

"There was a case in Miami, Florida, about nine years ago-- How long have you known Marilyn?"

"Eight years," Dan said.

"Nine years ago in the Miami area a white female, then age 24, named Holly Rae Bowman married one James Robert Blackwelder, a young white businessman who had just inherited his family's business, a yacht dealership. Two months later, he drowned."

"Drowned?"

"Drowned in Biscayne Bay when a sudden storm came up. Fell overboard off his own damned yacht while he was out sailing with his wife. It was ruled accidental. I'm looking at a photocopy of a newspaper article about it from the Miami Herald as I speak. But here's the coincidence that'll kill you. She got the yacht business from her husband through a trust."

"A trust?"

"Yes, Dan, a trust. She sold the business immediately, and disappeared with about three million dollars. Hasn't been seen since. The family was convinced she killed him. The local D.A. did nothing, the usual lack of evidence, so the family hired their own private investigator. He didn't turn up much. A trust instrument doesn't have to be divulged to some snoop without a court order and the family couldn't get a copy from the lawyer, either. This Holly Bowman had just graduated from the University of Miami with a degree in archaeology."

"Archaeology?"

"Yeah-- archaeology. So?"

"Oh-- nothing."

"Holly Bowman Blackwelder's credit report nine years later lists no activity since then and the last known address is shown as her husband's in Miami Beach."

"So Marilyn and Holly Bowman Blackwelder could be the same person?"

"Could be, could not be. Holly Bowman could be another assumed name, although the investigator in Florida has traced her public school records to Redondo Beach, California. Harley's tracking all that stuff right now. He's trying to see if he can find any young women who disappeared about ten years ago, especially in southern California, maybe had a record. It takes time, but Harley's really hooked on this one. He likes the young ones and the crazy ones."

"What else?"

"Harley's using his contacts to get a copy of Marilyn's Arizona driver's license photo and then send that on to Miami, but if you have a good photo of Marilyn, it would be even better."

"I'll get you one as soon as I can. Hey-- maybe you should send Harley on up here, just in case."

"You're the client. You're paying for it."

"Then send him up here now. He sounds really good to have dug all that much stuff up so fast. And have him bring that package up that I had notarized."

* * *

As Dan headed back towards the boat shack, he saw that Marilyn was talking with the Indian man on the porch. She shook his hand and strolled away, back across the pontoon bridge to the car. Dan no longer felt even a little bit drunk.

He approached the Indian who nodded again at Dan and then smiled. The man's guitar case, with a few coins and a few dollar bills in it, was opened at his feet. His walking stick lay across the guitar case. He swayed a bit in the porch swing and began to play "Jack of Diamonds" on his guitar and sing in a high, clear voice.

"Well I played him 'gainst the ace

"It was starvation in my face

"That Jack of Diamonds was a hard card to play."

Big Jack came outside and interrupted him.

"Ernest, when are you going to get a job?"

"I have the best job at Lake Powell, Jack."

"Well I played him 'gainst a king

"And it made the dealer sing

"That Jack of Diamonds was a hard card to play."

Dan tossed a dollar bill into Ernest's open guitar case.

"You're a better man than I," Ernest said. He tipped his hat. "I'm taking requests."

"How about 'You Shook Me'?" Dan asked.

"I said I was taking requests. Didn't say I was playing any. But you'll like this one."

"This fever I'm havin' sure is hard on a man

"This fever I'm havin' sure is hard on a man

"Doctor said ain't the fever

"It's your lover has another man."

Ernest looked at Dan and grinned when he sang the last line, then played a long, intricate guitar break and finished, flourishing and hammering on high notes.

"He sure plays good, don't he," Big Jack said.

"Is that a Robert Johnson song?" Dan asked.

"'High Fever Blues,' Bukka White," Ernest said. "Some people like Robert Johnson the best, but I prefer Bukka White. He was B. B. King's cousin. Worked in a tire factory in Memphis, Tennessee."

Dan tossed another dollar bill into Ernest's guitar case. Ernest tipped his hat again as George came back from his houseboat inspection.

"She's beautiful, all right," George said. "Let's get to the lodge and get checked in. I'm starving."

"I'll walk you boys back," Big Jack said. "I'm headed up to the lodge myself for a little supper. What about you, Ernest?"

"I'm going to go grease on some fried baloney and potatoes in my houseboat."

"Later, Ernest. Don't drink too much Coors."

"I drink Pabst for supper."

Ernest giggled and bent over his guitar. The three white men started back towards the pontoon bridge.

"Is that your T-Bird?" Big Jack asked Dan.

"Yes, sir."

"Your wife doesn't drive a Mustang, does she?"

"Yes, she does. How'd you know?"

"Oh, it just reminds me of the story about the T-Bird and the Mustang," Big Jack said.

"Hey," Dan said and pointed. "What's this?"

They watched as the same sheriff's Jeep four-wheeler that had pulled over the Range Rover at the top of Echo Cliffs slowly came down the incline and cruised through the dirt parking lot. The officer was wearing his Smokey hat and aviator shades. Dan recognized the same man who had glanced at him out on the highway. The big Jeep stopped beside Dan's T-Bird.

"He looks like he'd stomp somebody's balls with little provocation," Dan said.

"That's the sheriff of Coconino County himself," Big Jack said. "Briscoe Covell."

Big Jack waved to Sheriff Covell, who didn't acknowledge the wave, but stared at Dan and George.

"What's with that sheriff?" Dan asked.

"He hates the rich pricks from Phoenix who come up here," Big Jack said.

"The sheriff's job in Phoenix is a desk job."

"The sheriff in this county thinks it's hands on," Big Jack said. "He loves to bust people himself. I voted against him. Bastard just runs off business."

Sheriff Covell revved his engine, then backed around, spun his wheels and kicked up some dirt, then headed out of the parking lot and back up the ramp. As he recrossed the pontoon bridge, breathing in the dust Covell's Jeep had kicked up, Dan thought about the people who owned the dozens of empty houseboats moored along Big Jack's docks. He figured it was like the marina he had been to at Lake Havasu. Most of the boats out there weren't for rent to the general public. The boys who ran Phoenix kept one tied up at the lake just in case.

* * *

Marilyn looked in the mirror, primping. She liked this room at the Wahweap Lodge because it reminded her of the rooms at the Sundowner, only this room was newer and had better furniture and a nicer bathroom, with an adjustable WaterPik shower head massager. The room also had a painting of Navajo sheepherders above the bed. She lit her cigarette from a Wahweap Lodge matchbook and then made sure she put the matchbook in her purse.

"Ready," Dan said.

He finished connecting his video camera to the room's television and started playing a recording. Marilyn came over, lay on the bed, and watched it. Her bare legs still made Dan excited but he tried not to think about it. He turned the lights off and lay next to her. The screen's light glowed on their faces. They watched a digital tape Dan had made three years ago of him and Marilyn and an overstuffed chair. Dan had put the camera on a tripod, positioned close to them and at just the right angle. In bed, watching, Marilyn languidly dragged on her cigarette and then yawned.

"I hate it when you smoke in bed," Dan said.

"I hate it when you don't shave."

"Watching this tape used to excite you."

"Don't you have a new tape?" Marilyn asked. "I've seen this one. I'd like to tape something else."

"We could make a new tape."

She sighed.

"Not tonight. Maybe up at the kiva."

"Marilyn, maybe you should get a job or something."

"I do everything by doing nothing," Marilyn said.

Dan took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out in the ashtray by the bed. She stood up, took her clothes off and slid under the sheets.

"I'll erase the tape," Dan said.

As he kept staring at the screen while Marilyn rolled over to go to sleep, he thought about liking how tired and sore his tongue used to get.

* * *

In George and Barbara's room, George was lying on the bed watching the Los Angeles Dodgers hosting the Chicago Cubs on television. George's empty vodka and tonic glass, his third drink, sat on the nightstand. Barbara held the remote so George couldn't channel surf between innings.

"I think we should get a divorce," she said.

"Fine."

"And I don't think we should fight over anything."

"Me either," George said.

"Why don't you talk to me?"

"If you want to divorce me, why do you want to talk to me?"

"I'm going to file when I get back to Phoenix."

"Go ahead."

Barbara sighed. "Mount Rushmore."

George perked up. "What'd you say?"

"Mount Rushmore. North by Northwest was at Mount Rushmore, not Boulder Dam."

George grabbed the remote from Barbara and snapped off the television.

"Goddamn it! That's right! Why didn't you tell me?"

"You make your own bets, and you have to live with them."

"You knew!" George shouted.

He hopped up from the bed and started pacing the room.

"You wouldn't have listened this afternoon on the dam anyway."

"You should've told me!"

"You're the goddamn Hitchcock expert!"

"Which movie had the dam in it?"

"I don't know."

"You perturb me," George said.

He reached for his empty glass and shook it in disappointment.

"I want a divorce," he said.

* * *

Dan stared into the bathroom mirror and talked in a whisper to himself.

"I love her. . . No, I don't. . . How could I love her now? I loved her. What did I do? I didn't do anything to her. . . Goddamn, she must think I'm stupid. . . No, she can't think I'm that stupid. She's the one who's stupid. . . No, she's not stupid. She's very smart, in her way. . . "

He studied his brown irises, then his white, slightly bloodshot eyeballs.

"She just doesn't put her intelligence to good use. Look who she's hot for now. . . What do they think they're doing? I knew something was wrong when I first met her. But. . . You hope." He examined his dark stubble, now two full days old. "No, she's right. I'm the one who's stupid. . . Well, she's not getting Danny."

He swallowed dry.

"I'm going to have to do it. I can imagine her and George. . . "

Dan's mind began to drift. He imagined George greeting Marilyn at the door of George's psychiatrist office. She would be wearing a tight black miniskirt, her legs smooth and bare. Dan quietly mumbled their conversation to himself, mimicking their voices.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Ayers, Miss?"

George's eye gleamed.

"Mrs. Carter. Call me Marilyn."

"Yes, Marilyn, please, lie on my couch."

George showed Marilyn to the couch. She lay down and got comfortable. Her legs were spread just a bit too far, revealing one red dot of her red polka dot panties. George settled in his leather easy chair. He was sitting at just the right angle to look up her dress and see the one red dot.

"Now, Marilyn, what is the problem?"

"I want to kill my husband."

"Yes?"

"He's such a big weenie. Dr. Ayers, can you help me?"

"Kill your husband? Why yes, yes I can."

Marilyn knocked on the bathroom door, breaking Dan's reverie.

"Dan?" she called. "Who are you talking to in there?"

She opened the door, wearing nothing but the turquoise necklace she'd bought from the Navajos.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Talking to my psychiatrist."

Marilyn drew Dan against her. She began rubbing herself against him and then held up a new joint snug in her roach clip.

"Let's make a new video," she said.

* * *

That night Dan dreamed of Crater Lake in Oregon. As a boy, his parents had gone there on a summer vacation trip through the Northwest. They had stood at the lip of the dormant volcanic crater that was five miles across and stared into the deep blue water a thousand feet below. Later that day they hiked down a trail through the volcanic cinders and pine trees to take the boating trip around the lake. Dan had dipped his hand into the cold lake water and thought about how far it was down to the bottom. In his dream, he was hovering over Crater Lake as if riding in a hot air balloon, staring into the deep blue, almost violet water below, wondering how far it was to the bottom of the lake.

Something was wrong with the balloon and it began to plunge oddly and with great jerks toward the surface of the lake. Rope lines to the balloon broke and the gondola pitched sideways, tossing Dan over the side. Suddenly he was in the chill waters of the lake, flapping and paddling, trying to swim, but failing. He held his breath as long as he could while he began to sink and sink, the coldness enveloping him as the water turned from violet to black, but he never reached the bottom. . .

He woke up, gasping and sweating, his heart pounding.

* * *

When Dan and George went inside the boat shack, Big Jack put down his copy of High Society.

"Is our boat ready?" George asked.

Big Jack looked at the clock on the wall. It was 8:03.

"It's been ready for three minutes," he said. "You boys are late."

"How much is it to gas it up?" Dan asked.

He took out his American Express platinum card.

"No, Dan, let me get this," George said.

"No, I'll get it."

"I insist. This vacation was my idea."

George took out his American Express platinum card.

"I'll buy the gasoline from the gasoline man," he said.

"I want to know who's buying the tequila," Big Jack said and grinned to himself.

Big Jack shoved some papers at George, who signed them without looking. Big Jack looked at the signature.

"Thank you, Mr. Ayers."

"Dr. Ayers," George corrected. He turned to Dan. "How'd you sleep last night?" he asked.

"Like a rock."

"I couldn't sleep," George said. "The fizz-fizz noise of those sprinklers outside my window kept me awake."

"Why didn't you close the window?"

"Couldn't figure out how."

Big Jack loudly cleared his throat and grabbed a key off the hooks from behind his counter, then led Dan and George outside.

Ernest, still wearing his sunglasses and black hat, had reappeared and was sitting in the porch swing, tuning his guitar. Beside him in the swing was a fat copy of Best Western Films of All Time.

"Awful early," Big Jack said.

Ernest ignored him, and started playing "Fishin' Blues."

He sang,

"Bet you goin' fishin' all of the time

"Baby goin' fishin' too

"Bet your life your sweet wife

"Catch more fish than you

"Many fish bites if you got good bait

"Here's a little tip that I would like to relate

"Many fish bites if you got good bait

"I'm a goin' fishin'

"Yes I'm goin' fishin'

"And my baby's goin' fishin' too."

Big Jack, chewing on his post-breakfast toothpick, led Dan and George past Ernest and down the main dock way to dock G.

"All the slip space here at Wahweap is full," he said. "You old boys are lucky to know somebody."

"Is he Hopi or Navajo?" Dan asked Big Jack out of Ernest's ear shot.

"He's not Navajo. Too short," Big Jack said. "He might be Hopi. Hopis think Navajos are dirty."

"What about white people?"

"Even dirtier. But then he might be Bedokohe Apache-- you know, Geronimo-- Where's your wives this morning?"

"At Basha's in Page getting groceries," George said.

"Sounds like an excellent plan," Big Jack said. "You probably saw those big wheelbarrows out on the docks you can use to load your supplies. Don't forget plenty of ice and the Piz-Buin."

"Piz-Buin?" George asked.

"It goes on your nose," Big Jack said, pointing to his own nose. "Keeps it from peeling. That sun reflecting off the lake will peel your nose in two hours. I got some in the shack if your wife forgets."

Dr. Danforth's houseboat, the Jolly Codger, was forty feet long and fourteen feet wide, a simple, flat, rectangular boat. The boxy aluminum cabin had a flat roof with a low railing, making the houseboat look like a giant raft with a big cracker box set on it. Big Jack took them on board and led them inside the cabin.

"This is the helm station," Big Jack said. "The ultra-modern name for it is the command center."

The helm station looked out a large window onto a small foredeck and railing.

"It's got your polished wooden wheel like in the movies," Big Jack continued. "You got your dual Telflex controls and an electronic control panel. Although this boat is a little old, its twin 454 cubic-inch Chrysler V-8 engines are still damned fine. It has a battery-operated Motorola two-way radio. A 15K Westerbeke generator and a 200 gallon fuel capacity, a 140 gallon water capacity, and a holding tank of 90 gallons." He paused. "That's for your poop. You're not supposed to poop in the lake."

Big Jack sat down in the helm station's leather chair.

"This is the captain's chair." He grinned. "These are the indicator lights for the three automatic bilge pumps and navigational lights. There's a rudder position indicator and a depth finder. Navigating at night and in the fog is something even licensed captains and experienced boaters won't attempt, so don't you. Emergency channel is Marine Band Channel 16."

"We'll be careful," Dan said. "We don't want any emergencies."

Big Jack fiddled with his toothpick and stared at Dan.

"There's two kinds of boats out on the lake," Big Jack said. "Floaters and boaters. Lake boats have squared bows for calm waters. That's you. You're a floater. Watch for boats with a V-keel. Those are real boats and go four times faster than you do. Don't do anything stupid. At the helm station, I mean. You have to take a dinghy along with you as a lifeboat. The back rail is hinged for easy launch or stow. If you check aft you'll see it pulled up under the cabin for storage. Real sailors call the rear 'aft'."

Dan wondered whether George ever called Marilyn's rear her aft.

Big Jack swiveled around in the captain's chair and surveyed the inside of the cabin.

"Have a seat, gentlemen."

He motioned toward the large L-shaped black leather couch on one side of the cabin.

"As you can see, this boat has its amenities, but it's not really of the luxury class."

Across the room from the L-shaped couch was the television and entertainment console. Next to the console, moving aft, was the galley and breakfast nook. Three windows of various shapes and sizes were fixed in each wall. The deck was slate gray linoleum. There were two very small sleeping cabins on either side of the aft patio door, which slid open to a small deck that contained stacked white plastic deck chairs, and stairs leading up to the roof. The only way to get from the foredeck to the aft door was to go through the cabin, as the sidewalls were flush with the edge of the boat, and the only stairs up to the roof were aft.

"There's a TV, DVD and CD player and home theater sound system," Big Jack said. "Fully equipped galley with a stainless steel sink. There's a wet bar, propane range, and microwave. Full vanity and full stand up shower. There's some clean towels in there. The bunks in the sleeping cabins should be made up and ready."

"Just like a hotel," Dan said.

"The camping lifestyle on houseboats is passe," Big Jack said seriously. "There's a reinforced fiberglass upper flat overhead sun deck with aluminum rails. Patio doors front and rear. Dr. Danforth told me he apologized and said his boat didn't have air conditioning, but he was waiting another year to trade up to a luxury seventy footer."

"You could almost live here," Dan said. "I guess Ernest does."

"Any questions? No? Good," Big Jack said. "Are you a good friend of Dr. Danforth's?" he asked George.

"We're partners. He and I practice the same specialty, psychiatry."

"Psychiatry? That explains it."

"What?" Dan asked.

"That Dr. Danforth. He brings the strangest people up from Phoenix to go out on this boat. College boys who are light in the socks. And women. Whew! The women he brings up here are strange. . . tattoos, purple hair, nose rings-- "

"I don't want to know," George said.

"Well, then after your wives get here and you've loaded up with the groceries," Big Jack said, "I'll take her over to the fueling island and fill 'er up and you can begin your weekend of boating pleasure."

* * *

Marilyn drove the T-Bird down the dirt incline and parked as close to the pontoon bridge as she could. Dan and George were waiting. After she parked, she and Barbara piled out and they all began to put the grocery bags, their luggage, the golf clubs and other gear into two of the large wheelbarrows.

"Big Jack told us you should get Piz-Buin for sun protection," George said.

"Here," Barbara said and held it up. "Good thing I'm in the sun a lot myself."

"I bought you a can of shaving cream," Marilyn said to Dan.

"Did you get the ketchup?" Dan asked.

* * *

After they got the supplies loaded and put away, Big Jack started the engine and eased the Jolly Codger out of its slip, instructing Dan and George all the while on the fine points of steering a clumsy houseboat. Big Jack guided it around the outer docks of the marina and the one hundred yards across the open water to the fueling island.

As the others stayed inside, settled in, and mixed some drinks, Dan turned his video camera on Big Jack pumping gas into the houseboat. The gas pump was the old, numbers-on-a-wheel kind of pump. It dinged every few seconds.

"Do you have a T-Bird or a Mustang?" Dan asked.

"No, sir, I have a Range Rover," Big Jack said, "but I should probably tell you about the T-Bird and the Mustang I started to tell you about yesterday. And be sure and drink plenty of water. It gets up to 120 out on that lake."

"What about that story about the T-Bird and the Mustang?"

"Oh yeah. . . So this teenage kid," Big Jack began, "who's about to turn sixteen and get his driver's license goes to his dad and says, 'I've just invented this dick-enlarging cream.' And his dad says, 'Son, there's no way you can invent a cream that will enlarge your dick'-- What do you do down in Phoenix?"

"My company, DanCart, sells and installs computerized digital gasoline pumps."

"Hmm. . . Anyway, this kid says, 'Dad, I guarantee it'll work. Besides, you promised me that if I did something great before I turned sixteen, you'd buy me a new Thunderbird.' So the dad says, 'all right, if your cream really works, I'll buy you a new Thunderbird.' So the kid gives his dad a tube of this dick-enlarging cream." The gas pump kept dinging and dinging as the meter registered fifty gallons of gas at a very inflated price and continued pumping.

"Reckon I need those digital pumps?" Big Jack asked.

"Make your paperwork a lot easier," Dan said. "You can sit in the shack and read your Hustler and the computer automatically does the credit card transaction."

"Sounds like I do need one. We get busier and busier here every year. Some ways we're still in the Stone Age out here. Anyhow, the dad tries the cream. And sure enough, his dick gets bigger. So a few weeks later on the kid's sixteenth birthday, the dad drives home in a new T-Bird for the kid. But as dad drives up, he sees a brand new Mustang sitting in the driveway."

"Here's my card."

Dan handed his business card to Big Jack.

"I've got all of Phoenix, Tucson, and Flagstaff covered," Dan said. "I'm still working on the smaller towns-- 'course you probably have a lot of business more like in a city. You'd get your new pumps paid off in a year. I can arrange financing if you need it."

"When you get off the lake next week, let's talk some business," Big Jack said. "I've always favored modern improvements. . . So anyway, this new Mustang is sitting in the driveway and the kid comes out and says 'Hey, dad, that's great, you bought me the new T-Bird.' And dad hops out, acting kind of pissed, and says, 'Where'd you get that new Mustang?'"

* * *

They were sprawled across the large black couch, except for George, who manned the helm station. Big Jack's video was playing on the Jolly Codger's cabin television.

"'Where'd you get that new Mustang?' the kid's dad asked," Big Jack said. "'And the kid says, 'That's from mom.'"

Dan laughed and laughed at the punch line. Barbara smiled. Marilyn looked bored. George looked disgusted. He was the only one wearing a life jacket.

"Can't we get away from the goddamn television?" George asked.

"You could go outside," Barbara said to George.

"Yeah, George," Dan said, "go outside and check the air pressure in the dinghy."

George mixed himself another vodka and tonic at the wet bar. Marilyn busied herself putting away the groceries and arranging a fruit bowl of bananas and peaches on the table.

Dan got out his map of Lake Powell and spread it across the breakfast nook table. He traced the route of the houseboat northward up the lake. Marilyn and Barbara joined him, and leaning close, studied the map with him.

"How far up are we going, Marilyn?"

Marilyn pointed to the spot.

"It's just a few miles above Rainbow Bridge, on the opposite side of the lake," she said. "Twilight Canyon. Here."

"That's in Utah."

"How fast does the Jolly Codger go?"

"Five knots," Dan said. "It'll take us almost all day, but we should be there two hours before sunset. I'll be fishing at sunrise."

"Don't worry," George said. "We're in good hands here with Christopher Columbus."

"Why hasn't this site already been excavated?" Barbara asked.

"I don't know. It just hasn't, but the kiva is only an hour's walk from the lake."

"All this effort for the relics of some dead civilization," George said.

"Ah, George, there's money to be made," Marilyn said.

"The only reason I came on this trip," George said, "was to get as far away from civilization as possible."

"George thinks civilization is a sickness," Barbara said.

"How the hell do you even know about this place?" Dan asked.

Marilyn only smiled.

"I make it my business to know certain things."

* * *

George, still wearing the life jacket, went out onto the aft deck. He leaned on the railing and lit a cigarette. Other houseboats floated on the lake and the desert cliffs slid by. Dan joined him.

"Marilyn wanted to steer awhile," George said. "Thought it was okay."

Dan pointed to George's cigarette.

"Those things are no damned good for you."

"You're right," George said. "It's a filthy habit."

"Can I get one?"

"Sure."

George held out a pack of cigarettes. Dan noticed it was menthol Dorals, Marilyn's brand. He pulled a cigarette out and George lit it for him. Dan took a deep drag and exhaled. They avoided looking at each other, both resting their arms on the railing as they stared at the cliffs and smoked. In midday, the reds and grays of the rock appeared flatter, lighter, more washed out with faint shadows. The sun pounded their heads.

"Thanks," Dan finally said.

"I don't know why I'm so damned edgy."

"Could be the heat," Dan said. "But Phoenix has the heat, too."

George merely grunted.

"Too much caffeine," Dan continued.

"You're probably right," George said.

"You just need a little peace and quiet out here on the lake."

"I'm taking my own advice. Did I tell you I'm thinking about quitting psychiatry? Get into something sane."

"Going to help Big Jack and Ernest run the marina at Lake Powell?" Dan said. He patted George on the shoulder. "Tell me, where else can you feel that fresh lake and desert air on your bare skin?"

"I should trade places with Big Jack," George said. "He should be the witch doctor."

"Are you far enough away from civilization yet?"

"Only when I can dump Barbara's golf clubs into the lake."

"Have you noticed about the water?" Dan asked.

"How's that?"

"The water, depending on the angle of the sunlight and the depth of the lake can be deep blue, sky blue, dark green, or light green, or even black."

"I guess I have noticed, I haven't thought much about it."

"It makes you think-- how do we know what color the water is, really?"

"It's no one particular color," George said. "It changes."

"Depends on how you're looking at it."

"Right. Spectrum theory and refraction and all that physics stuff."

Dan turned around and noticed a life buoy and line hanging on the wall.

"Good thing you have on your life jacket." Dan grinned. "Doesn't matter what color the water is if you can't swim."

"I know how to paddle."

"It'll be nice and cool tonight. And you and I can have a nice little heads up poker game."

"Oh, man, I'm looking forward to that," George said. "And I'll be stone sober. No beeper and no more drunken bets that don't mean anything."

"But a bet is a bet."

"Oh, come on, Dan, we were both a bit drunk. You can't hold a man to a drunken agreement like that."

"So you know you were wrong about Hitchcock," Dan said.

"Let's just forget about it."

"A bet is a bet."

George flipped his still-lit cigarette stub at Dan's face. It just missed, sailing past Dan's shoulder and falling into the lake.

"You perturb me," George said.

Dan stuck his cigarette between his lips, then reached behind his back and pulled out his .38 revolver he had hidden under his shirt in the waistband of his pants. Dan pointed the .38 at George's head. They stared at each other for a long time as Dan held the end of the .38 barrel a foot away from George's forehead.

"A bet is a bet," Dan said.

His cigarette lip-dangled.

"You're right. We'll settle it back in Phoenix."

Dan cocked the hammer. George cringed and turned away. Then Dan uncocked the hammer and opened the revolver's cylinder.

"Look. It's not loaded."

Dan held the opened revolver up for him to see.

"You crazy bastard," George said.

Dan held the revolver out.

"Want to try it?"

"What'd you bring that damn thing for?"

George brushed past Dan to go back into the cabin.

"Poker," Dan said. "Tonight."

He took a final puff of his cigarette and flipped it into the lake.

IV

Using her Astroturf practice mat, Barbara was hitting golf balls off the houseboat roof with a five iron. Marilyn watched, sitting nearby on a beach towel, smoking a cigarette, sipping a Diet Coke, and sunbathing in the skimpiest possible orange and black thong bikini. A huge bottle of suntan oil was sticking up between her legs as she looked herself over. She idly fingered her turquoise necklace.

"My thighs touch," Marilyn said.

"You have great thighs."

"No. My thighs touch at the top. That means they're fat."

"I don't know any woman that wouldn't trade her thighs for yours," Barbara said.

"No, I gained all this weight when I had Danny and I can't get it off," Marilyn said.

"You mean two pounds?"

"I'm depressed. I admit it. I'm obsessed with food. I'm obsessed with my body. I'm obsessed with being fat."

"I gave all that up years ago," Barbara said. "That's when I started feeling like a person."

"But then what do you obsess about?"

Barbara stopped her swings.

"You should start coming out to the course with me again," she said. "I'll give you more lessons. The walking'll make your thighs and butt firm. And with more exercise, you won't feel so depressed."

"Golf seems like such an idiotic game-- I mean, an idiotic game for me. Not for you. You're one of the best players in the state. You and I both know I'm not nearly good enough to play golf with you. I just feel so self-conscious."

Barbara stood over Marilyn, who set the suntan lotion bottle aside, stubbed out her cigarette, smoothed out the beach towel, and turned over onto her stomach.

"Would you like me to put some lotion on your back?" Barbara asked.

"Mmmm. . . Okay."

Barbara put her golf club down, squeezed some of the suntan lotion onto her palms and began to rub it on Marilyn's back.

"You have a beautiful back," Barbara said.

"What's so beautiful about it?"

"The shape and the texture."

"My back?"

"Your back."

Barbara kept rubbing. Then she squeezed more lotion on her palms and moved to the back of Marilyn's legs and began rubbing them.

"You have beautiful calves," Barbara said.

"I do?"

"Yes. They're firm and curved."

"I have fat ankles."

"You shaved your legs last night in the motel, didn't you?"

"Yes."

Barbara dribbled suntan lotion on the back of Marilyn's thighs and began massaging them.

"I told myself that I'd tell you something on this trip that I wanted to tell you for a long time," Barbara said.

"Oh?"

"I didn't know what you'd say, but I decided I had to tell you anyway."

"What?"

"And I decided I didn't care how you reacted, I just wanted you to know."

Barbara's stopped her rubbing and took a deep breath.

"Marilyn, I'm tired of having to juggle three part-time P. E. teacher jobs at Mesa CC, ASU, and Phoenix CC. They don't pay anything, either, so I'm quitting them all," Barbara said. "I'm going to turn pro. I know I'm a bit older to start now, but I'm going to try to play on the professional women's golf tour. A couple of George's rich poker buddies at the country club have agreed to help sponsor me."

"Barbara, that's great."

"It's a major change. George thinks I'm too old."

"You're not too old," Marilyn said. "You're good. You're the best amateur in Phoenix. If you're good at it, you ought to make some money at it."

"Well, Marilyn. . . There's something else, too. . . Remember how we used to talk out on the golf course about things?"

"Sure. I remember."

"Remember the last time we played golf, what you told me under that big eucalyptus tree by the 12th tee?"

"I remember telling you about how Dan and I never lied to each other and that was one thing about our marriage that was great."

"Yes, I remember, too," Barbara said. "Well, I almost told you that day." Barbara paused and sucked in her breath. "I like women, Marilyn. I like women that way. . . I married George for his money. Simple and clean. My marriage has been a big lie. . . But I figured you knew already."

"Well, it's not like it's against the law."

Barbara glanced at Marilyn and couldn't decide what Marilyn's little smile meant.

"I've decided my marriage is against my law."

"And it's not like I didn't sort of kind of already know. So are you divorcing George?"

"There's something else," Barbara said. "It's what I obsess about."

She reached again toward Marilyn, and touched her back.

"Yeah?"

"I obsess about you. I'm in love with you."

They heard the aft sliding door open. Dan, carrying his video camera and the tripod, came out on deck and climbed up onto the roof.

"I've got the camera ready," Dan said. "Want to tape some golf swings now, Barbara?"

"Dan, why'd you bring your gun?" Marilyn asked. "You scared the shit out of George. I couldn't get him to come back out on deck and get some sun."

"Don't worry," Dan said. "He'll crawl back out after dark."

He set his video camera down and moseyed over to the railing.

"Don't you worry about George drinking too much?" Marilyn asked.

"No," Barbara said. "He's a doctor."

"Well, I'm worried." Marilyn lit a fresh cigarette and stood up. "And if I find that stupid gun, I'm just going to toss it overboard."

"Come over here, Marilyn," Dan said. "I want to show you this."

"What?"

Dan motioned for them to follow him as he climbed back down the ladder to the aft deck. They followed him to the edge of the roof and peered down at him. Dan squatted, leaned out, and stretched his arm over the surface of the lake. He dipped his hand down and brought it up and let the cool water trickle through his hands. He looked up at Marilyn.

"This is the surface. Do you ever wonder what's underneath the surface?"

"I don't have to wonder. This is a lake. I know what's underneath the surface."

"But with the water, what's underneath the surface is the same as what's on the surface-- it's all water."

"So?"

"It's transparent-- just like you, Marilyn."

Marilyn tossed her hair and picked up her towel and her pack of Dorals. She climbed down the ladder, brushed past Dan, and went into the cabin. Dan went back up to the roof and began setting up his camera on the tripod so he could record Barbara's golf swing. Barbara set down the tanning lotion, wiped off her hands on a towel and picked up her five iron.

"Better get George into A.A. when we get back," Dan said.

"I've tried for three years. You can't talk to a shrink about that."

"Maybe he's just afraid of the water. "

He turned the camera on.

"Okay, I got it. Just start swinging anytime," Dan said. "It'll run for half an hour, if you want."

Dan straightened up and leaned back against the railing to watch. Barbara took a long time over the golf ball before she swung. When she did swing, she hit the ball fat and it plunked into the lake just a few yards out from the houseboat.

"Shit!" Barbara shouted. "I did it again."

"At least you got it on video."

Barbara set up another ball and stood over it.

"Does your camera have sound?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Is it on now?"

"Sure," Dan said. "It's on automatically."

"Can you turn it off?"

"If you want. Why?"

"I don't want to listen to myself cursing when I watch this played back," Barbara said.

"Okay."

Dan reached over and flipped a switch on his camera. Barbara swung. She hit the ball fat again and it plopped into the lake.

"Goddamn it!"

"You curse like I do."

"Play golf?"

"Years ago," Dan said. "Cursed too much and broke too many clubs."

"Actually, I wanted you to turn the sound off for another reason. I want to tell you something that I think you already know."

"Yeah?"

Barbara set up another golf ball.

"George has been fucking Marilyn."

She took a big swing and hit the golf ball solidly. It sailed in a long arc over one hundred yards out into the lake, fading slightly at the end, a perfect professional shot. Barbara watched it all the way.

"George has been fucking Marilyn for quite a while," she said and looked at Dan.

"Yes, I do know," Dan finally said and turned the camera off. "Barbara, do you think I'm crazy?"

"No. Just pissed."

* * *

Still wearing his life jacket, George was sipping on another vodka and tonic and reading Houseboat magazine. Marilyn pranced into the cabin, spread her towel on the black couch and flopped down on it next to George.

"I'm getting worried," George said, speaking in a low voice after glancing around.

"You're always worried," Marilyn said.

She began laughing.

"I don't know about doing it."

"Everything's fine," Marilyn said.

"Since Dan brought his gun. . . " George's voice began rising. "I think he knows."

"Don't talk so loud," she whispered.

"Marilyn-- if we are going to do it, we can't put it off."

"He doesn't know."

"Maybe I should look for Dan's gun," George said, "and then we could hide it or even get rid of it. I'd feel better."

"It's all for show," Marilyn said. "He'd never use it."

"But you said before he was crazy."

"You said you'd get Dan drunk, but you're the one who's getting drunk. Did you bring the Seconal?"

Marilyn began caressing George's chest.

"Yes," he said.

She began French kissing George, running her hand down his shirt and under it to rub the skin on his belly and then, feeling around in George's pocket, took out his mini-recorder.

"Why'd you bring this?"

"It's like my beeper and cell phone. I feel unclothed without them."

"I'll just hang onto it for you for now."

"Fine, fine."

George took a long drink, finishing it off.

"When are you going to do what it is you're supposed to do?" he asked.

"I'll put the Seconal in his beer tonight. He'll drink so much beer he'll have to get up and go piss while you two are playing poker."

"What if he carries his beer can with him into the john? You just have those Seconal capsules loosened and in your hand ready close by his beer can if I have to make a move."

"I've been practicing. Watch."

Marilyn took out a Foster's can from the refrigerator and opened it, took it over to the wet bar, showed George some paper wads the size of pills, then quickly and deftly stuck three wads through the opened can top.

"Okay, okay. . . You just get him out on deck, too."

"We'll do it tonight," Marilyn whispered. "Everything. . ." She went over, flicked her tongue in his ear, and kissed him lightly. "is under. . . " She kissed him lightly again. ". . . control."

* * *

It was late afternoon. The washed out rock colors of midday had deepened to a rich orange-red with distinct lines and shadows and clumps of vegetation. The water was deep blue. Dan sat at the helm station, guiding the Jolly Codger slowly between the narrowing cliffs of Twilight Canyon, one of the countless arms of Lake Powell.

Marilyn, dressed in a khaki shirt and desert hot pants from L. L. Bean, studied the map. George had a fresh drink in his hand. He stood beside Dan and watched Dan steer. George had to hold onto the back of Dan's chair. Barbara stood out at the fore deck railing and watched the cliffs ease past. Ahead, the canyon narrowed. It was already in dark shadow as the sun had dipped behind the cliffs. Dan turned the houseboat into a small bay about two hundred yards wide and pointed.

"Let's anchor in this shade," Dan said. "This'll make a good spot. It's quiet. We can't be seen so we shouldn't be disturbed by any other boats."

The bay was deserted. Theirs was the only houseboat in sight. Dan swung the houseboat close to a cliff. This particular cliff was not as steep as most of the others and would make an easy climb. The walls were almost smooth from the wind erosion. One of the walls was very steep, but the nearest one made a gentle slope for a quarter-mile until it became a bluff that stuck steeply up.

Dan killed the engines.

"We'll anchor her right here," he said.

It was quiet. They all went out on the foredeck and stood still, gazing at the cliffs, except for George, who pored over the map.

"This silence makes me nervous," George said.

Dan shouted "Hey-oh" as loudly as he could.

George jumped, dropping his drink glass onto the cabin floor. The shout echoed away. Dan came back in and slapped him on the back.

"Did that relax you?" Dan asked.

* * *

It was dark outside. Dinner, a feast of salmon and roasted potatoes cooked by Barbara, was over. George had taken off his life jacket and was wearing a fresh sports shirt. He and Dan were hunched over the nook table playing poker. Black, yellow, and green casino chips that George had purchased at the Gambler's Book Shop in Las Vegas were stacked in three separate clusters. There was a large, neatly organized cluster on George's side of the table. The pot, a smaller random pile, lay in the middle. The smallest cluster, a chaotic pile, sat in front of Dan. A plastic tumbler held their cash. They tugged on cans of Foster's as they played, empty cans strewn around. The fruit bowl sat on one end of the nook table, half-filled with bananas and peaches.

Marilyn sat with them, stuffing potato chips and onion dip into her mouth and playing with her turquoise necklace. She had taken a shower and was wearing a white fluffy terry cloth bathrobe with big side pockets. Barbara was lying on the couch and watching the video of her golf swing from that afternoon. She played with the remote, rewinding the tape over and over and using the slow motion and pause buttons.

Marilyn reached for a cigarette and lit up. Dan watched her, annoyed.

"When are you going to quit?" he asked.

"I quit smoking every morning. I just start again around noon. When are you going to shave? I bought you your favorite can of shaving cream."

"I'm on vacation," Dan said.

"Bet," George said.

Dan squinted at his cards. They were playing seven card stud. He had an eight and a trey in the hole and an eight facing up. He reached for a cigarette from Marilyn's pack.

"If you're not going to quit, I might as well start."

Dan lit up.

"Eight brings it in. Bet, Dan," George said.

"All right, all right."

Dan studied his cards again, then looked at George's up card, a jack of clubs. He flicked some cigarette ashes into the fruit bowl.

"Did you say we're playing Dr. Pepper?" he asked.

"No, we're not."

"I like Dr. Pepper," Marilyn said. "We should've brought some."

"You mean tens, twos, and fours are not wild?" Dan asked.

"I don't play that way," George said. "That's kid's stuff. Poker should be a game of skill. Six hours of straight up poker, and the best player wins."

Dan tossed a green $50 chip into the pile. George did the same.

George dealt. Dan got a queen, George a four. Dan made a terrible face.

"Queen bets."

"Check," Dan said.

"Check."

Barbara stopped the video, shut off the television, and came over to the table.

"Well, Dan, I figured out the flaw in my swing," she said.

"Good," Dan said.

"On the shots I was hitting fat, I was swaying my upper body forward about two inches on my downswing. On the solid shots I kept my upper body square and still."

"I'm glad I could help."

Barbara got a beer from the refrigerator, took one long gulp, and kept gulping.

George dealt Dan another trey, George got a ten.
"Barbara likes to watch herself," George said.

"Check," Dan said.

Barbara stood behind Marilyn and put her hands on Marilyn's shoulders.

"You know what George likes to watch?" Barbara said.

"No, what?"

"He likes to rent really bad soft core porn videos and watch them on fast forward."

Marilyn giggled.

"Fitty," George said and put a $50 chip in the pot.

Dan called. "Rhymes with titty."

"George, do you remember that Chinese ghost movie you rented?" Barbara asked.

"We did not watch that on fast forward."

"Do you remember that scene where they all started licking each other?"

"That was not a soft core porno film," George said. "It was a ghost movie, which is an important genre in Hong Kong filmmaking."

"There's another one of George's bullshit pronouncements," Barbara said. "Anyway, it was a really bad movie but there was one scene where there was a room full of people and one of them was the ghost who was causing all the trouble, but they didn't know who it was because the ghost looked and acted like a real person, so how do you think they figured it out?"

"We're trying to play cards here," George said.

He dealt the last face up round.

"They started licking each other's bodies to taste the salt on their skin," Barbara started giggling, "because they believed that a ghost would not sweat and therefore not be salty."

"That's brilliant," Dan said. "I bet Spielberg wishes he'd thought of that."

Dan got a another eight, making his full house. George caught another jack.

"What other kind of videos do you make, Dan?" George asked.

"Family memories. You ought to get yourself a video camera, George. They're a lot of fun. And I'll bet fitty this time. Pair of eights. Watch out."

George called. "Rhymes with shitty."

"I can tell you about some family memories," Barbara said.

Dan took a long time to study his cards.

"Is it true what everybody says about psychiatrists?" Dan asked.

George dealt the last card down.

"I got sunburned a little bit today," Marilyn said.

"Yes, your nose is kind of red," George said.

"Put some Piz-Buin on it," Dan said. "I'll bet a hundred."

Dan tossed a black chip into the pot.

"No problem. Raise."

George tossed two black chips into the pot.

"Did I ever tell you the story of what happened on our honeymoon?" Barbara asked.

"Oh, Christ, Barbara. . . " George said.

Barbara finished her beer and started giggling again.

"Tell us, Barbara," Marilyn said.

"Two hundred to you," George said.

"I want to hear about your honeymoon," Dan said. "But tell us when the hand is over."

"Barbara's a quick drunk and she gets these giggling fits when she drinks," George said. "And whatever she says, she's making most of it up."

"George must have three fish hooks," Dan said. "But I'll see it. And raise it."

Dan tossed two more black chips into the pot.

"See it."

George tossed out two black chips.

"And raise it," he added.

He tossed out another black chip.

"They don't allow string bets in a casino," Dan said.

He beamed, confident.

"That looks like your last bet, bud," George said.

"George must have three fish hooks with a screaming queen kicker. See it. And raise it."

Dan shoved out two yellow and two green chips. He now had one yellow chip, a $25 one, left. He took a long slug of Foster's.

"Makes me start talking Aw- stry- lee- an," he said.

"You can't raise me again," George said. "House rules are that we can only raise three times. We're not playing no-limit table stakes and unlimited raises."

Dan looked befuddled and drunk.

"You mean houseboat rules," he said.

"I raised, then you raised, then I raised you back," George said. "That's three raises. You can only call."

George pushed back to Dan the last four chips that Dan had tossed into the pot.

"I'm doing you a favor," George said.

Marilyn sidled close to Dan, put her hand on his shoulder and pretended to study his cards. Her other hand reached into her robe pocket and touched the Seconal caps.

"He's right, Dan," Marilyn said.

"All right, I called," Dan said. "But let's see you beat this hand, goddamn it."

Dan turned over his down cards and spread all of his cards on the table.

"Eights full of treys."

He started to reach for the pot's pile of chips.

"Wait!"

George revealed his four jacks.

Dan was stunned.

"No way," he said. "There's no way there'd be a full house and four-of-a-kind in the same two-handed game. What is this, The Sting?"

"Oh, Dan, you're such a paranoid," Marilyn said.

"Maybe I should be."

"Maybe you're just not very good at poker," George said.

He raked in his winnings. He now had a huge pile of chips, while Dan was down to his last five chips.

"The first rule of poker is never bet unless you know you have a winning hand," George said.

"I'll remember that," Dan said. "The second rule is, crack another beer."

"Dan," Marilyn said, "I'll get it."

Marilyn started for the refrigerator, but Dan stopped her.

"I'll get my own, thanks."

Dan shuffled over to the refrigerator, pulled out another Foster's, opened it, and gave it a long tug.

"George," Marilyn asked, "why don't you play in those big poker tournaments in Las Vegas?"

"I might."

Dan returned to the table, gathered up the cards and shuffled.

"My deal," he said. "Barbara, why don't you play some poker with us?"

"I don't want to get George pissed off when I beat him, so I don't play," she said.

"Well, at least have a seat beside me and tell me about your honeymoon with George," Dan said.

He patted the nook bench. Barbara sat beside him. He gave her a quick arm squeeze as he began to deal the cards.

"This might be my last hand," Dan said.

"I hope so," Marilyn said. "It's boring to watch you constantly get beat."

With her hands beneath the table, she rolled the Seconal caps between her fingertips.

"Since I'm low on chips, this'll be five card draw," Dan said. "One-eyed jacks and deuces wild."

"Nothing's wild," George said. "And we're only playing seven card stud or hold 'em."

"Make it hold 'em."

George put in the small blind and Dan the big blind. Dan dealt them each two cards down, took a long draw from his beer, then examined his cards.

"Dan likes to act extroverted when he plays poker because he is unable to keep a poker face," George said. "He thinks all his acting bullshit will throw me off."

George stared at Dan's last three chips.

"Need to rebuy?" George asked. "You're getting a little low."

"Barbara," Dan said. "The honeymoon."

"We spent our honeymoon at the Grand Canyon with another couple," Barbara said. "We all stayed together in the same suite at the Bright Angel Lodge."

"You mean George is a swinger?" Dan said.

"Used to be," Barbara said.

"Can psychiatrists legally do that?"

George pretended to study his cards.

"You were there, too," he said.

"Who were the other couple?" Dan asked.

"That's none of your business," George said.

"You don't know them," Barbara said. "They moved to Las Vegas last year and got divorced."

"I'll bet fifty," George said.

"George really liked to watch me and Rick's-- that's the other guy's-- wife together."

"Come on, let's play," George said.

"You know the funniest part?" Barbara said. "George screwed up the reservation and we went up there on the wrong day."

"Barbara," George said. "I know what you're trying to do."

"George had a confirmed, written reservation that plainly said the 14th, but we went up there on the 15th because George had never bothered to look at what the reservation said."

"You didn't either," George said.

"But George has such cheek when he's drunk. When the poor desk clerk told him that we'd come on the wrong date, George made a scene that went on and on for over an hour and finally he threw his drink into the fireplace. Pieces of cocktail glass went flying across the floor of the lobby. And this guy in a white jacket appeared immediately and swept the glass up. Then one of the executives came over from the main office and wound up comping us a suite that night."

"You can't pass up a free suite at the Grand Canyon," George said.

"George, you made me so embarrassed I almost filed for a divorce on the spot."

"Yeah, well, you didn't file because you couldn't wait to get it on with Cindy, either."

"Cindy who?" Dan asked. "How did you and George meet, anyway?"

"Cindy and Rick played golf at the club," Barbara said. "Rick was the president of a small pharmaceutical company that sold a lot of drugs to George's pharmacy. We met at one of Rick's parties."

"I didn't know you owned a pharmacy," Marilyn said.

"George, is Barbara saying this Rick character was a drug dealer?" Dan asked.

"Are we playing poker?" George said.

"George, were you planning on doing some swinging up here on this vacation?" Dan asked.

"I've retired," George said. "I raise."

Dan made a face and threw his cards down.

"I guess I have to let you win that thousand dollars back."

"You fold?"

"Like a flag at a funeral."

George removed the small pile of chips in the center of the table over to his side.

"What did you have?"

"Goddamn it, Dan. We've been playing poker for years. You know you have to pay to see the winning hand."

"Aw, just once."

As Dan started to reach for George's cards, Marilyn tried to reach for Dan's beer can.

"No, goddamn it!" George shouted.

He lunged toward Dan, sweeping his cards away from Dan's reach. Dan's right arm swung wildly and missed George's hands, but knocked over his beer can before Marilyn could drop the Seconal caps in it. Foster's flooded across the nook table and dribbled onto the deck. George reached for Dan's cards as Marilyn quickly withdrew her hand and thrust it into her robe pocket.

"But the winning hand gets to see the loser's," George said.

He flipped Dan's cards over. Dan's hand was the three of clubs and jack of diamonds.

George laughed.

"The jack of diamonds is a hard card to play," Dan said.

"You're playing shittier than usual tonight."

"Hell, Mr. Las Vegas, you just said never bet unless you know you have a winning hand."

"A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds."

Dan jumped up from the table.

"Barbara, how do you live with this smirking bastard?"

"Dan, you really should do something about your anger," George said.

"Okay, I will."

"Please stop baiting him, George," Marilyn said.

Dan went over to the refrigerator, opened it, and shoved some beer cans around. Unseen, Marilyn dropped five loosened Seconal caps into Dan's partly full beer can as he grabbed his .38 revolver that he'd stashed in the back of the refrigerator.

Dan whirled back around.

"I've been keeping this on ice," he said.

Marilyn screeched.

"Relax," George said. "It's not loaded."

Dan aimed at a spot one foot over George's head and pulled the trigger. The exploding bang of the revolver firing made everyone jump. Marilyn screeched again and George dove under the table, hitting his head.

"Dan!" Marilyn shouted. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

Dan laughed like he was hysterically drunk and peered at George who was cowering under the table.

"How's my little hobgoblin?"

"Dan, please calm down," Marilyn said.

"Oh, I'd never shoot George. He's my friend. . . Although I might arrange some electroshock treatments for him. Would you like that, George?"

"Dan, please don't shoot any more," Marilyn said.

"Fine. Let's all sit down." Dan took a deep breath and became much calmer. "Come out from under that table, doctor. You don't look very professional down there."

Dan sat down at the nook table and motioned for Marilyn to sit, too. He placed the revolver on the table directly in front of him, and let go of his grip on it.

"Barbara, sit down," Dan said.

Barbara sat.

"George, come on," Dan said.

George eased out from under the table and sat down.

"Cash your chips," Dan said. "You almost busted me flat, George. But a bet is a bet."

George took the money out of the tumbler, counted out a few bills, and shoved them towards Dan. Dan left them lying on the table. He reached out to Marilyn and took the polished turquoise stone of her necklace in his fingers.

"Mmm," he said. "It's so smooth."

She yanked the stone away from him and clutched it tightly in her fist.

"Dan, finish your beer and go to bed," Marilyn said.

"Marilyn, have a banana," Dan said.

"Dan, this is stupid."

"No, have a banana. Remember how you used to take a banana when we were first married and then you'd slowly peel it-- "

"Dan—"

"Oh, come on, Marilyn. You're among friends. They're swingers."

Dan took a banana from the fruit bowl and handed it to Marilyn. She let go of her turquoise and took the banana.

"Now peel it," Dan said.

Marilyn made a face, then began to peel it quickly.

"No-- slower."

Marilyn shrugged, then peeled slower until all the peels were down and the white banana meat was exposed.

"Now lick it."

"Dan," George said, "for Christ sakes-- "

"Lick it," Dan said.

Marilyn tentatively brought the banana to her mouth and put the tip of her tongue on the banana.

"Lick it."

Marilyn used a bit more of her tongue and licked it more.

"Lick it like you used to."

"Dan," George said, "we've all been drinking too much."

"Do you want to lick it, George?"

Marilyn continued to lick the banana.

"Marilyn, that's disgusting," George said.

"Oh, George, you love it," Barbara said.

"Now suck on it," Dan said.

Marilyn slid the banana into her mouth and sucked on it.

"Back and forth."

Marilyn slowly pushed and pulled the banana back and forth, in and out of her mouth.

"That's good. Let's watch. Do you like to watch, George?"

"Whatever's bothering you, Dan, I'm sure we can talk about it rationally."

"Give George the banana," Dan said.

Marilyn offered George the banana. He hesitated.

"Take it," Dan said.

George finally took it.

"Hold it up."

Dan gestured for George to hold the banana up, like holding a torch. George held it up. Dan picked up the revolver.

"Dan!" Marilyn shouted.

George closed his eyes and shrank away. Dan cocked the .38 and aimed at the banana. George was on the verge of tears. His hand began to shake.

"George, do you believe in revenge?"

Dan pulled the trigger and the revolver clicked empty. The banana broke in half and the top half plopped off on the table. George stared at the broken banana. Dan began his hysterical laughter again and put the revolver down on the table.

"There was only-- one-- bullet," Dan gasped.

George threw down the banana, picked up the revolver, examined it, and managed to pop the cylinder open. He spun it and pulled one spent shell out. The rest of the chambers were empty.

"I only loaded one bullet," Dan said through his laughter, then grabbed the revolver away from George.

"If you don't give me that," George said, "we're going to head back tomorrow morning."

"I tell you what. I'll give it to Barbara."

Dan held the revolver out to Barbara.

"Here, Barbara."

"I don't want it."

"Dan, why don't we go out on the deck and get some of that fresh night air on the lake," George said. "It'll clear all our heads."

He rose and nodded at Marilyn.

"Yeah, come on Dan," Marilyn said. "Take your beer."

She held it out to him. Dan picked up his cash from the table.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Ten minutes after midnight," Barbara said.

"I tell you what. I'll put the .38 back on ice."

Dan went over and put the revolver back in the refrigerator.

"See, if you leave the .38 in there long enough," he said, "the metal will contract, and the bullets won't fit in the chambers."

"Just leave it in there," George said.

"Now, if I look in the refrigerator in the morning, and the .38 is gone, I'll be upset," Dan said.

"It'll be there," George said.

Dan and George stared at each other for long seconds.

"Let's all go for a midnight walk up to the kiva," Marilyn said. "Let's go get what I came here for."

"Christ, I'm too drunk," George said. "You'll probably get us lost."

"In the moonlight, it'll be romantic. And I've been given expert directions."

"While you're up pillaging the dead and looking for ancient relics of civilization, I'm going to go fishing," Dan said.

"Fishing?" George said.

"Yeah. Marilyn told me I was supposed to go fishing while I'm here so I brought all my gear up. Just after midnight is really the best time, when the bottom feeders rise to the surface. I love fishing by moonlight. I'll take the dinghy and tie it to the houseboat, row out a ways, drop my line. . . and see what bites."

"I'm going to bed," Barbara said. "Come on, George, let's go to bed."

"I'll be back about sunrise," Dan said.

Dan picked up his beer and went outside. The night air had a strange wet-dry smell and felt like silk against his skin. It was the humidity from the lake in the middle of the desert, combining with the dry desert air full of the scent of sagebrush and juniper. He stared up at the clear sky. The moon had not yet risen so that the stars shone bright and sharp, a million pinpoints of light in a dark indigo sky.

V

Barbara was sleeping. A steady, rhythmic knocking began and grew louder, waking her up.

"George?"

She turned and reached out. George was not in his bunk. She shook her head clear and looked at her clock. It was 1:20 a.m. She had been sleeping in only a loose fitting T-shirt. When she got up she pulled on a pair of walking shorts.

Barbara emerged onto the foredeck and shivered in the cool night. The moon had just risen above the eastern cliffs. Her eyes swept the lake's gloomy, flat horizon. She passed through the cabin and went out on the aft deck where the small lake waves were gently and rhythmically knocking the dinghy against the stern of the houseboat.

A wadded paper bag was lying in the dinghy. Barbara reached for the bag, opened it, and pulled out first a home made DVD in its case, titled Family Memories written with a black marker, then the Sundowner Motel matchbook, and then all of their cell phones-- George's, Marilyn's and hers-- smashed to pieces. She put the items back in the bag and carried the bag with her. She climbed the ladder to the roof where she scanned the lake and the cliffs. On the top of the nearest cliff were two figures walking, looking tiny in the far moonlit distance.

Barbara rushed back down to the cabin, placed the paper bag on the galley counter, found her small backpack and filled her water bottle, put on her walking shoes, and rushed out. She climbed down into the dinghy, leaving the long line tethered. She found the paddle, and paddled the dinghy around the houseboat toward the base of the cliff. At the shoreline she disembarked from the dinghy.

She strode up the gently sloping cliff, crossing broken rocks that were still giving back the heat they had absorbed during the day. Her own hands looked ghostly to her in the moonlight. When she reached the top of the cliff, she peered far across a plateau to a small Anasazi pueblo dwelling, the kiva. It was sitting on the edge of a precipice, and was looking almost luminescent.

After another half hour's walk, where she crossed finely packed sandy ground with few bushes but many outcroppings of half-buried boulders, Barbara approached the kiva. She examined the base of it by feeling around it with her hands and nudging the stones with her feet. She felt along the kiva wall for a handhold, then removed her backpack and water bottle.

A man's voice and a chuckle that sounded like George's drifted out from inside the kiva. Barbara pulled herself up the wall, using the irregular stones in the wall's face as hand and foot holds until she reached a high window, stopping when she heard a woman moaning. The moaning got louder. As quietly as she could, Barbara climbed up to the window ledge and peered in.

A shaft of moonlight coming in through the kiva window fell upon George and Marilyn. They were lying on a blanket that was spread over the stony floor fifteen feet below the window ledge. George was wearing only an orange life jacket. Through the moonlight and shadows, there were glimpses of Marilyn's bare flesh.

Barbara stared down at them, unable not to look. She felt a warm rush spread through her body. In the dark she began rubbing herself through the khaki of her walking shorts. It felt rough without her panties but somehow better. With her eyes focused on Marilyn on the kiva floor, the big rush came, then her legs cramped and she thought she might lose her balance and fall. She caught her breath, then decided to retreat and climbed down the outside wall, found her footing on the ground, and stared out across the plateau toward the moon reflecting off the surface of the dark lake.

* * *

Marilyn stirred and looked around. Her eyes fixed on the dimly moonlit pristine Anasazi pot sitting in the corner. The baked earthen pot was about twelve inches high, eight inches in diameter, and painted beige, with black markings. She examined it carefully, turning it in her hands. George, curled up in the fetal position, half covered by the blanket, snored gently. Marilyn placed the pot inside her day pack, put her hiking clothes back on, then opened a side zipper on her pack, took out a fat wad of rolled up currency and slipped the wad into a crack of the wall.

* * *

Barbara lay in bed again in one of the tiny sleeping rooms. She was awake, still dressed in her T-shirt and khaki shorts, staring at the ceiling and listening to George and Marilyn climbing back onto the houseboat. Their talking and giggling and George's heavy breathing penetrated the small room. Barbara got up and stood behind the closed door.

George and Marilyn barged into the main room of the cabin. Marilyn, who was wearing only her bikini, set down her pack, grabbed her robe from the couch and put it on. Her hair was still wet. George was soaked and dripping. They did not notice the crumpled paper bag lying on the galley counter as Marilyn took the Anasazi pot out of her pack and placed it in the center of the nook table. She took two of the Seconal caps out from her robe pocket.

"You said you'd put those Seconals in Dan's beer."

"I put five in," Marilyn said. "He's probably snoring in his bunk bed right now. I kept a couple back so I can get some sleep."

She took a beer from the refrigerator and knocked the two Seconals down with a swig of beer.

"Do we have to carry him outside to finish it?" George asked.

Barbara threw open her sleeping cabin door.

"George," she said, "why don't you prescribe me something so I can sleep, too?

"Barbara!" George said. "Sorry we woke you up."

Marilyn rubbed her Anasazi pot.

"Well, Barbara, I got what I came for. I'm guaranteed $10,000 for this."

"George," Barbara said. "I-- I heard something knocking against the houseboat. It woke me so I went out to take a look."

"It was just us."

"No. This was over an hour ago. I went outside, and found a paper bag in the dinghy."

"Have you seen Dan anywhere?" George asked.

Barbara took the paper bag from the galley counter and opened it, shaking out the DVD, the matchbook, and the smashed cell phones.

"My goddamn cell phone!" George said. "Smashed to hell. No respect for other people's property. . . " He frowned and studied the Sundowner Motel matchbook. "Where'd that come from?"

George tossed the matchbook aside and examined the DVD.

"What are Family Memories?" He shook the paper bag some more and a folded note fell out. He opened the note and read it silently.

"What?" Marilyn asked.

George tossed the note on the nook table. Barbara and Marilyn both reached for it, but Barbara beat her to it. Barbara read the note, made on a printer with a large Gothic font, aloud.

"'I have to put an end to it. I just want to crawl under a rock and die. Please watch the DVD and you'll know why.'"

"The bastard's killed himself," George said.

Marilyn took the note from Barbara and read it for herself.

"Why didn't he write it in his own handwriting?" Barbara asked.

"Why does he do anything?" Marilyn said.

"Let's see what's on the DVD," Barbara said.

George hesitated. Then he stared at Marilyn. His hands were trembling.

"What should we do?" he asked, too loudly. "What if the sick bastard recorded himself blowing his own head off?"

Barbara began laughing.

"Yeah, right," she said. "And then he made a DVD copy from his original and left it in the dinghy-- after he put a bullet through his head—but before he jumped into the lake."

"Let's watch the DVD," Marilyn said.

Barbara took the DVD from George, put it into the player, pushed play, and turned on the television.

"I know you and Marilyn have been fucking for a long time," Barbara said. "So don't put on any act."

The video that Dan had made of Marilyn and George in the Miata began to play.

"I think we should kill him," Marilyn said.

"Kill him?"

"Yeah. George, I think he's dangerous. He told me this story once. I don't know what he might do if he found out. In fact, he might already know."

"No-- Marilyn, he couldn't."

"Then that's an even better reason to do it. That way we'll make sure he never knows."

"Why do we have to kill him?" George asked.

"He's crazy, especially when he's drunk. I don't know what he might do if he found out. You're a psychiatrist. Think about it."

George lunged at the DVD player and managed to shut it off.

"No! How did that bastard get that?"

George looked around at Marilyn and then at Barbara and then back to Marilyn.

"How did that bastard do that?"

Sweat appeared on his forehead like raindrops. Marilyn shrugged.

"This is a practical joke, right?" George went on. "This is one of Dan's jokes."

"George, don't act so damned guilty," Barbara said.

"Now Barbara. . . You said last night you wanted a divorce. And now Dan's dead--"

George started to laugh, then composed himself. He took a shaky deep breath.

"Well," he said, "I think this can all work out for the best--"

"Marilyn knows how I feel," Barbara said.

"Yes," George said. "We'll call up the sheriff on the boat radio, but first we'll throw the DVD into the lake."

George went over to the boat's two-way radio and tried to turn it on.

"George, Dan refers to the DVD in the suicide note," Marilyn said.

"We'll throw the note into the lake, too," George said. "We'll even burn it first."

He kept flipping switches and turning dials on the radio, but it was dead.

"Goddamn thing doesn't work."

"They'll want to see a suicide note," Marilyn said.

"Okay, okay. . . We'll erase the DVD. It'll be blank."

"I don't think you can do that," Barbara said.

"Barbara's already seen the DVD. And Dan probably has multiple copies. And the file of the note I'm sure is on his computer."

"You're fucked, George," Barbara said.

"Damn!"

George gave up trying to get the radio to work.

"George, I wish you'd act a little more. . . " Marilyn trailed off.

"Mature," Barbara said.

"Mature," Marilyn echoed. "It doesn't mean anything. Haven't you heard of the DeLorean trial? They had the bastard cold on video tape buying two tons of dope and he still got off."

"It's easy to be calm when your thinking is distorted by a large dose of barbiturates and alcohol," George said.

Marilyn opened the refrigerator and studied the inside of it.

"Dan's .38's not here," she said.

George looked in the refrigerator, too.

"He probably took it with him to blow his brains out," George said. "God, what a mess."

"Where's Dan's video camera?" Barbara asked.

They looked under the table, through Dan's bags, around the helm station, and under the engine cover. They checked both sleeping cabins and the bathroom. Marilyn went up to the roof. They shoved and tossed bags, clothes, and furniture here and there, but they could not find it.

* * *

It was after daybreak, but full light was slow to come over the high cliffs down into Twilight Canyon. Barbara leaned over the railing and strained to see anything out on the lake or up on the cliffs. George came out on deck, holding the bits and pieces of the smashed cell phones, and tossed them into the lake.

"Is it light enough to move?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah. Come on. Help me."

The two of them hauled the dinghy up onto the deck. Then George took the helm and turned the key to start the engines. They were dead. George kept clicking the key but nothing happened.

"Goddamn it!" he said.

"What?"

"I'll check it out."

They went outside, where George lifted the engine covers and poked around in the engines. He tinkered with them until he discovered the problem.

"Can't start the engines," he said. "Looks like Dan took the rotors from the distributors. Goddamn obsolete American electrical system."

In a flash of temper, George slammed the engine covers shut. They went back inside and Barbara started making breakfast. George took off his life jacket to eat. They sat at the nook table and picked at their scrambled eggs and hash browns. Marilyn lay asleep on the couch.

"I'm not convinced that Dan has really tried to kill himself," Barbara said.

"Well, he's not around. What'd he do, go snorkeling?"

"Maybe. Or a hike."

"The best thing to do is go for help," George said.

"What are you going to do, row fifty miles in that dinghy back to Big Jack's dock?"

"Hell no, Barbara."

George got up and fumbled through the mess they had made in the cabin the night before until he found the map of Lake Powell and spread it on the table.

"We're anchored here," George said.

He pointed to the spot on the map, over halfway up the arm of Twilight Canyon.

"Now instead of rowing in that dinghy all the way around here-- looks like about ten or twelve miles-- " His finger swept across the open lake. "It's closer and easier just to walk. So I'll paddle the dinghy the few yards to the shore. We'll keep it tethered and then you two can pull it back to the houseboat after I reach the shore. Then it's only about a two mile walk to the other arm, not too steep here-- you can see the elevation lines are far apart-- and then another four miles to the Dangling Rope Marina. They're supposed to have emergency communications, a ranger station, minor boat repairs. . . "

George traced the walking route with his finger.

"Oh, George, I just love it when you take charge," Barbara said.

"And what's your proposal?"

"Dan and his gun are both gone," Barbara said. "He could be out there waiting to shoot you."

Marilyn began to stir on the couch.

"That assumes-- if he's trying to do that-- that he would know what I would do next and where I'd be going," George said. "The bastard has yet to be able to read my mind."

"I think we ought to just wait a while today," Barbara said. "If Dan didn't take much food or water, he'll be back by tonight, laughing his head off at you. You shouldn't take off into the desert by yourself in the daytime."

"If Dan shot himself or drowned, it's better to get help now. It's the most logical thing to do. I'll keep my eyes open and avoid anything that doesn't look right."

Marilyn yawned and stretched.

"Want some coffee?" Barbara asked.

"Sure."

Marilyn yawned again and sat up.

"If he's dead, he's dead," Marilyn said. "If he's alive, he's a coward because he would've shot George last night when he had the chance." She yawned a third time and stretched some more. "What about the DVD and the note?"

"When I get back," George said, "I know you two will have talked it over and agreed that it's perfectly rational if the video and the note just disappeared and we all forgot about them and there won't have to be any kind of refried DeLorean trial again."

"Dan must have the original video, George."

"Then I'll just have to get it."

George put on his life jacket and fastened it securely, then applied some Piz-Buin heavily onto his nose.

"Hell, George," Barbara said, "why don't you admit that you're scared to be out here with no engine and no cell phone and that you'll do anything to get off this lake."

All three of them flinched as the sound system boomed on with the loud, rapid and deep bass drumming from The Ondekoza CD. It made George scream and curse and cover his ears. Barbara turned it off. She studied the CD player.

"Looks like Dan set that timer to play this CD at seven a.m."

* * *

The sky was becoming lighter as they pushed the dinghy back into the lake. George climbed aboard, shoved off, and began paddling. Barbara made sure the tether line was fastened to the houseboat. With an awkward and inefficient stroke, George paddled the dinghy twenty yards to shore. He climbed out onto the solid rock, grabbed his filled one gallon plastic water jug, and shoved the dinghy towards the houseboat. Marilyn and Barbara pulled the tether line back as George stood and watched. When they secured the dinghy to the houseboat, George waved and started walking at a diagonal up the gently sloping cliff. Marilyn and Barbara watched him climb up the cliff until he became only a moving dot. He never took off his life jacket.

"You can't trust him," Barbara said.

"Who, Dan?"

"No. George."

"George is so predictable," Marilyn said. "He never bluffs."

She turned away and went back inside.

Barbara watched until George disappeared over the top of the ridge. After he was gone, she studied how the cliffs of Twilight Canyon ran back toward the main body of the lake. Returning to the nook table, Barbara sat down and unfolded the lake map, smoothing it out flat. She studied it and carefully noted all of the cliff and bay landmarks.

"It's not any ten or twelve miles around that bend," she said. "It's more like five."

"So what?"

"So George is full of bullshit. He was just afraid to paddle on the lake by himself. He'd rather walk on the hot rocks out in the blazing sun—wearing a life jacket."

"Men are weak, aren't they?"

Marilyn had found the suntan lotion and started putting it on her calves.

"What do you see in him?" Barbara asked.

She tried not to stare at Marilyn's creamy, tanned legs, but failed.

"George is very intelligent-- he knows about a lot of different things," Marilyn said. "He even watches C-Span with the sound off."

"I know-- and he's a witty conversationalist," Barbara said.

"Yeah."

"He puts you at ease."

"Sure."

"He looks you in the eye."

"Yes, he does."

"George has the heart of a landfill," Barbara said.

"Yeah, well, it's a more interesting kind of garbage than Dan's."

"If George was really so damn smart, he'd know that Dan didn't commit suicide and that he's up to something."

Marilyn began looking for her cigarettes.

"Give George more credit," she said. "Maybe he figured that out, too, and has his own plan. Maybe he's jerking you around, Barbara."

"Dan has the gun."

"But George wins at poker."

"Marilyn, George has been playing you as much as you're playing him."

Marilyn lit a Doral and pretended to study how the smoke rose off the burning end of it.

"Impossible," she said.

* * *

Dan sat on a natural rock bench and rested in the shade of some huge outcroppings. He was dwarfed by the rock formations that thrust up around him and he was glad his head felt cooler in the shade. He munched on a fat baloney and cheese sandwich and took a long slug of water. His right leg was twisted funny and his lower pant leg was stained a dark, sticky red.

He had hiked across rock that was bare except for an occasional lone sagebrush. The rocks radiated heat while the sun had burned the top of his head. He wished he had brought a wide-brimmed hat. He was wearing a long sleeve gray cotton Henley and a pair of old Levis. Beside him sat his video camera. Fastened to his belt by a clip was a large plastic water jug, almost full. He really wanted a beer, but had poured out his last one from the night before when it had suddenly tasted too bitter. Marilyn had been so insistent he drink it, he thought. Maybe that had been their stupid plan, to drug or poison him.

Now he felt stone sober.

Along the way, he had stopped to study an Anasazi carving on the flat, smooth side of a boulder. The carving was similar to the picture on the T-shirt he had bought for Danny. It was a tight, round, eight-layered spiral, with numerous rays emanating from the outermost spiral. There was a large crack in the rock that cut through one side of the outer spirals. The ancients had also wisely worshipped the sun god, he thought.

From his rock bench Dan studied the plateau he had trekked across. Beyond it, the lake spread out deep blue on the horizon. Dan soon fixed upon a small figure moving in the distance, a man who was walking across the plateau towards him. He could tell it was George from the bright orange life jacket.

Dan lay down on the rock bench and put his face on the cool part of the rock from the shade and watched George, who, it was clear, had decided to walk toward Dangling Rope Marina.

Out on the plateau, a dark object lying on the ground grabbed George's attention. It was Dan's revolver. George picked it up and popped the cylinder open. It was loaded with six shells. Dan was too far away to see that George had started smiling.

George tucked the .38 in his belt, and kept walking. It took him a long time to cross the plateau. As Dan watched him approach, he thought of the scene in Spartacus when the rebel slave army, led by Kirk Douglas as Spartacus, awaited the Roman legions, who were marching, marching, marching in their disciplined cohorts across a wide plain straight towards the defenses of the dug-in slaves. It was done in a long shot that the director, Stanley Kubrick, held without cutting or editing for what seemed like minutes.

Dan felt his mind begin to focus in a new way and then for the first time in years he could remember clearly how it was when his father had died. He was seven years old and his father had taken Dan and his mother water skiing at Lake Havasu in the low desert of the Colorado River. His father had bought a new speedboat after years spent borrowing his friends' boats. His parents were both good water skiers and Dan's father had promised that when he bought his own boat, he would teach Dan how to ski, too.

It had been a busy weekend and the lake was filled with motorboats and skiers, many of them the usual hot doggers and drunks. When it happened, it happened too fast to react or even to know, but in Dan's memory it happened very slowly.

There were speedboats zooming all around, crowding each other and going too fast. Dan's father was gunning his speedboat so Dan could come up out of the water to start skiing. Another large speed boat, far too close and going way too fast, hit another boat's wake. The too-fast speedboat was knocked off course and became airborne, its propellers whizzing in the air. Dan's mother screamed and jumped out of their speedboat as the other boat's spinning propellers landed squarely on Dan's father.

Dan waited for George to see him. When George finally did, he didn't say anything. Dan took an extra drink of water. When George got within speaking distance, he stopped. Dan pulled himself into a semi-sitting position.

"George! George, I think I broke my goddamn leg."

"You dropped your .38, too."

"Yeah, when it happened I was in so much pain, I guess I hardly knew what I was doing."

"Real funny," George said, "that suicide shit and the video."

"Why always at the Sundowner Motel?" Dan asked.

"She's stupid," George said. "She liked to do it there. Said it excited her."

George scratched at the thick smear of Piz-Buin that had caked dry on his nose.

"That's my wife," Dan said. "Stupid and exciting."

George made a display of examining the .38.

"Women are a mystery to me," George said.

"Women aren't mysterious," Dan said. "They just like to act that way. We're supposed to play along." He slowly pulled himself to sitting up. "Say, George, you're an M.D., right? Can you set my leg, you know, with rock slabs or something? Then you could go back to the houseboat, call the rangers and the paramedics on the radio."

George took a step toward Dan.

"The radio doesn't work, asshole."

"Doesn't work? Hey, don't call me names, especially after all that money I gave you last night."

George stepped closer.

"I call a spade a spade, and an asshole an asshole. The boat engines won't start either. You took the rotors from the distributors."

"Damn, George-- What about your cell phone?"

"You smashed that, too. But we threw the DVD and the note in the lake. Barbara never saw it."

George raised the .38 and pointed it at Dan's chest.

"Hey, there, George, I think that .38 is loaded."

"Yeah, it is. I checked."

"Well, now George, they teach you in the army that you should never point a loaded weapon at someone unless you intend to kill them."

"When were you in the army?" George asked.

"Just something my dad used to say."

"Well, I agree with it."

"George-- "

Dan struggled to his feet and tried to back away, but he was up against the rocks and his legs wouldn't make a step.

"They'll never find your body in this desert. The buzzards and coyotes will take care of that," George said. "And I won't have to pay you for that goddamn Hitchcock bet-- "

"George!"

George fired at Dan. Dan screamed and clutched his chest, which became a messy red splatter. George fired again. Dan let out an animal groan, twisted, and fell sideways, off the rock bench and fell down into a long, sloping gully. George kept firing at Dan as he fell. Dan tumbled and tumbled, tasting dust and hitting rocks. The noise of his falling travelled back up to George, who kept pulling the trigger until all six rounds had been fired. Dan came to rest near the bottom of the slope, where the dust rose around him and small rocks clattered down the hillside after him.

George smiled. He wiped off the .38 with his shirt, then tossed it down the gully. It clacked as it fell and slid to rest near Dan's body.

George started off across the plateau toward the Dangling Rope Marina. Soon the lake was in his sight again. In the far, far distance two houseboats floated on the lake. George paused to drink from his gallon bottle and poured some water over his head and neck. Refreshed, he went on.

VI

"Want me to rub some lotion on your back?"

"Of course, Dah-link."

They were up on the cabin roof, the arm of Twilight Canyon and the small bay still deserted except for the Jolly Codger. Barbara applied suntan lotion to Marilyn's back. Marilyn, who had been smoking a joint with her roach clip, was topless. She turned and pulled Barbara down to her. Barbara tried to French kiss her.

"Somebody might see," Marilyn said.

"Who?"

"Some asshole with a video camera."

"Yes-- Let's go inside-- "

"Okay, if you do something for me first."

Marilyn tugged at Barbara, then released her. They climbed down the stairs and went inside. Barbara watched Marilyn as she searched for and found both the DVD Dan had left and Barbara's five iron.

"Do it, Barbara," Marilyn said.

"I don't know."

"Of course you know. Do it."

Barbara hesitated.

"Dan may have the original. It would be useless—"

"And he may not."

Marilyn caressed Barbara's face and brushed her fingers through Barbara's hair.

"I don't need Dan or George anymore," Marilyn said. "I think I need you."

Barbara touched Marilyn's cheek, let her hand drop and brush the turquoise of Marilyn's necklace. Marilyn smiled and asked with her eyes, then went back out to the aft deck railing. Barbara, clutching the DVD that was still in its hard plastic case, followed. She dropped the DVD on the deck and began pounding it with the head of her five iron.

"Do it, Barbara, do it!"

After the case was smashed and the DVD cracked and askew, Barbara became a bit winded and stopped pounding. Marilyn grabbed the DVD and flung it like a Frisbee out over the lake. It skipped once and then nose-dived and disappeared under the water.

"Where's Dan's note?" Marilyn asked.

"I don't know."

"We need to burn that."

Barbara pulled Marilyn back inside and then her hands were everywhere all at once all over Marilyn. They stumbled towards the nook table as the fruit bowl got shoved off onto the deck. The bowl clanged as bananas and peaches rolled underneath their feet. Marilyn saw that they were about to knock the Anasazi pot onto the deck, too, but she was able to grab it in time. She held it above her head as Barbara kissed her.

Marilyn safely laid the pot aside on the bench of the breakfast nook, then pulled Barbara over to the leather couch with her. Marilyn murmured, "Yes, yes, oh-- yes," over and over. Barbara felt herself let go in a new way.

There was a distant cracking sound of gunshots, six in all.

Barbara started, separated herself from Marilyn and looked around, trying to catch her breath. She wiped off some mashed banana from her foot and then began gathering up her clothes and putting them on, as she was suddenly full of nervous energy. Marilyn lit a cigarette and sat on the couch.

"Dan's ambushed George," Barbara said.

"Maybe Dan shot himself."

"Six times?"

"Maybe Dan shot George five times and then shot himself."

"Maybe they took turns and shot each other three times each," Barbara said.

Marilyn snapped alert.

"If Dan just shot George and if there's another copy of that DVD, then the police could have that other copy right now," she said.

"We can't stay here," Barbara said. "We have to get help."

She found her five iron and held it up.

"I'll take this," she said. "If George hasn't been shot dead, I still might get to use it."

Marilyn began rushing around, looking for her clothes and her purse.

"George made me say all that on the video about my wanting to kill Dan," she said. "It was just a game George liked to play. It turned him on. Just like on your honeymoon with Cindy."

Marilyn found her purse, looked through it and took out George's mini-recorder.

"I have to tell you something right now," she said. "George has been talking about trying to kill you."

She held the recorder up, shook it a couple of times for emphasis and then pressed play.

"What is that?" Barbara asked.

"Just listen."

The sound coming through the small speaker was a bit tinny and echoey, sounding like it was recorded in a tunnel.

"That woman is just a leech," George said. "She won't work. She just wants my money."

"Barbara's a good friend of mine." Marilyn said.

"On top of that, she's always trying to hustle women at the country club. It's embarrassing me."

"She's trying to make a little extra money playing golf, so what-- that's making money, isn't it?"

"She's not hustling golf, she's trying to pick those women up."

There was a pause, and then Marilyn burst out laughing.

"There's a fucking dyke colony out there," George went on, "right in the middle of white bread Scottsdale-- "

Marilyn just kept laughing.

"You know what she did one time? She brought home this young girl when I was out in San Francisco for a convention, and they stayed home all weekend, drinking and doing who knows what to whom. They were so exhausted they fell asleep all curled up together in our bed and forgot that I was coming home and would catch them."

George's voice grew higher in pitch, and angrier and angrier.

"Oh, George, you're jealous because you weren't there to watch."

"That wasn't the worst."

There was a pause, and the sound of muffled movements.

"What's going on?" Barbara asked.

"He was getting himself another drink. Just listen."

"She wanted her little toy dyke to move in with us," George said.

There was another long pause.

"I wanted to kill them both."

The recorder went silent and Marilyn clicked it off. She smiled smugly.

"Imagine. George, jealous of other women."

"That's just George's drink talking," Barbara said. "He wouldn't do anything to me."

"Are you sure?"

"When did you record that?" Barbara asked.

"Yesterday while you were up on the roof with Dan hitting golf balls. The dumb shit brought his mini-recorder with him. And his beeper, and his cell phone."

Marilyn started to giggle.

"You didn't know about Dan's video before we came up to the lake, did you?" Barbara asked.

"No, no—no way."

"Then why'd you record George?"

"I just wanted you to know what George really thinks," Marilyn said. "Can't you tell that I want to be with you now?"

Marilyn removed the Anasazi pot from the nook bench and cradled it in her arms like a new-born child.

"I'm putting this away."

* * *

Dan lay where he had landed near the bottom of the gully. Then he stirred. He pulled himself up and brushed himself off, then removed from under his shirt a burst plastic baggie that had been filled with ketchup. The ketchup that was smeared over his chest and onto his shirt was starting to dry and get sticky, but he ignored it. He tossed the baggie aside, retrieved the .38, and then scrambled out of the gully and back up to the rock bench. He felt a little bruised and sore, but his leg was fine.

Close by the rock bench was a smaller, craggy outcropping where he had hidden his video camera in the shade. The camera was turned on and pointed at where George had stood when he shot at Dan. Dan clicked the camera off and quickly checked for playback. The first few seconds looked clear and bright, so he clicked it off.

Dan took a long drink of water and patted some on his face and neck. Underneath the camera was a small towel. He wetted the towel and wiped the ketchup off his shirt and chest and leg. When he finished, he neatly folded the towel back up and stuck it in his back pocket. He reloaded the .38 with real bullets from his pants pocket. He set out to follow George, holding the video camera in one hand and the .38 in the other.

Dan started jogging until he became winded, but he soon had George in sight. George was walking, but not in a hurry, toward the lake and had his back to Dan. Dan slowed to a fast walk.

George reached the edge of a cliff a hundred feet above the lake. He cursed under his breath and scanned the landscape for a way to get down to the marina. Estimating distance in the desert was tough. The marina was looking closer, but it was still a good three miles away. This cliff was sheer and far too steep to try descending on foot. No boats of any kind were tied up along the near shore. The tiny boxes of two houseboats floated on the deep blue lake in the far, far distance.

George sat down on the cliff's edge, sipping from his water bottle as Dan silently came up on him. Dan pointed the .38 straight into the sky and pulled the trigger. The boom made George jump up as he whirled around in a crouch and dropped his water bottle.

"Dan!"

Dan stopped ten yards short of George and held up the video camera.

"I taped your shooting me," Dan said.

"You bastard!"

Dan put the camera on the ground.

"I can shoot you now. Self-defense."

"You bastard!"

"You shot me with blanks, George. You said you'd seen North by Northwest, so I thought it was fair."

"You bastard!"

"But now, the bullets in the .38 are real. See?"

Dan opened the cylinder of the revolver and took the bullets out one by one and held them up for George to see. Then he reloaded them slowly, one by one. When Dan finished reloading, he clicked the cylinder back into place. It made a sound like an ice pick cracking glass.

"You bastard."

"Did you say Barbara saw the video I left?"

"You bastard! We destroyed it and she never saw it."

"That's okay," Dan said. "I'm having a copy of it sent up here by my attorney to show to the sheriff. What was his name—Covell something or other?"

"You bastard."

George slowly rose out of his crouch as if his back was made of rubber and his knee joints had gone stiff.

"Aren't you hot in that life jacket, George? You're not going to drown in the goddamn desert. Take it off."

Dan aimed the .38 at George's head.

"George, move away from that nasty cliff. It's dangerous. I don't want you to fall off."

George glanced down at the lake.

"There's something I just don't understand about you, George, and I got to ask."

Dan lowered his revolver.

"George, why are you married to an AC when you're so DC?"

"You bastard. Rudolph Valentino was married to two dykes at the same time."

Dan raised his revolver again.

"Well, George, let's make sure that unfortunate situation never happens to you."

Dan aimed at George's head.

"And I'm really sorry about your water phobia, George. What's the technical name for it? Aquaphobia?" Dan cocked the .38. "I guess you're right. I'll never collect on the Hitchcock bet. My accountant will just have to write off that thousand bucks you owe me."

Dan steadied his aim.

"You forgot the third rule of poker, George. If you can't raise, get out."

* * *

Barbara placed her five iron in the dinghy. She had her T-shirt and walking shorts on. Wearing their life jackets and carrying water bottles, she and Marilyn, who had put her top back on, clambered into the dinghy, untied the line, and shoved off. They each had a paddle. Barbara was a smooth, effective rower, but Marilyn struggled, uncoordinated. The dinghy made jerky, uneven progress.

"It's not that far to the marina," Barbara said.

They heard a gun shot.

"We have to stroke together," Barbara said.

"I don't think I can, Barbara."

"Get in a rhythm."

"This is hard. I'm tired."

"Christ, Marilyn, just pretend you're stroking something else."

Soon their strokes were more coordinated and in a few minutes, they rounded the bend. Barbara looked up, saw George standing on the edge of the cliff, and pointed.

"Look!" she shouted.

George closed his eyes, pinched his nose, and jumped off. Dan fired, but too late.

George fell the one hundred feet into the lake as the gunshot echoed. He held his toes pointed down and his nose pinched all the way down. Dan ran up to the edge of cliff and peered over just as George hit the lake with a giant splash. After several slow seconds, George bobbed back up and broke through the lake's surface, his head held above the water by his orange life jacket. His bellow echoed off the cliff.

Barbara and Marilyn became winded from their hard paddling. They stopped as they watched George fall and then waited for him to resurface.

"Let's watch him drown," Barbara said.

Up on the cliff Dan emptied George's water bottle over his head to cool off.

"You bastard," he said.

Dan shouted and waved to the dinghy. He saw Barbara wave back. Using his zoom lens, Dan began recording George bobbing in the lake.

Barbara started rowing again.

"We have to go pick George up now," she said. "Dan's filming us."

"I'm going to throw that damned camera in the lake."

"Row."

They started rowing again, found a good rhythm and headed toward the spot where George had hit the water. They were soon huffing for breath again.

"Do you see him yet?" Marilyn asked.

"No-- Yes! There he is."

George was bobbing and sputtering even though his life jacket kept his head clearly above water. They paddled as close to him as they could. Barbara leaned out of the dinghy and offered George the end of her paddle. He grabbed at it, and after two misses, finally grasped it, but pulled so hard and awkwardly that he nearly pulled Barbara into the lake with him.

"George! George!" Barbara called. "Easy-- I'll pull you into the boat."

George panicked and began fighting against the paddle. Barbara let go rather than be pulled in.

"Hey!" George yelled and then sputtered again.

"Hang onto the paddle and pull yourself into the boat," Barbara commanded.

George kept floundering and started grunting.

"The life jacket will keep your head and mouth above water," Barbara called to him. "Stop fighting it." Then she said to Marilyn, "Paddle us over closer to him."

Marilyn paddled and the dinghy slid closer to George, who started emitting a small whine.

"George!" Barbara called again. "Stop flopping around! Relax and let the life jacket keep you up."

"I-- I can't!" George shouted.

George kept flopping, but the dinghy eased closer to him.

"You're slapping water into your own face," Marilyn snapped. "Stop it."

Barbara and Marilyn both reached out, grabbed him, and started to pull him in. Just as George got the trunk of his body far enough into the dinghy, he yanked hard at Marilyn and she fell into the lake along with her paddle. She disappeared under the water.

Exhausted, George pulled himself into the dinghy and collapsed. His face was ashen and the Piz-Buin had gotten smeared all over his face. He heaved for breath like a fish flopping on the dock.

"Marilyn!" Barbara called.

Barbara looked into the blue water, trying to see Marilyn when she popped her head up in the water.

"Marilyn!"

"I can tread," Marilyn called back. "My life jacket works fine. Just help me in."

She swam over to the dinghy and Barbara helped her back in.

"Are you all right?" Barbara asked.

Marilyn nodded yes and gasped for breath.

Both paddles were now floating on the lake. Barbara leaned over the side and tried to row toward one of them by cupping her hand and using her arm. Color came back into George's face and his breathing slowed enough so he could speak.

"We've got to kill that fucking Dan and destroy his videos and camera," George said. "He wants to kill all of us."

"He only wants to kill you, George," Barbara said.

She reached one of the paddles, pulled it in the dinghy, and stopped to get her breath. George picked up Barbara's five iron and weighed it in his hand. Then he swung the club at Barbara's head just as she turned around. She quickly raised her paddle in reaction but only partially blocked the blow. The club head smacked face bone and glanced off her cheek. The dinghy rocked crazily. George swayed for his balance.

"George!" Marilyn shouted.

"She knows, Marilyn!"

Barbara ducked away as George started to swing again.

"Dan's got his camera on you!" Barbara shouted.

The dinghy kept rocking, throwing George off balance. With his next swing he missed Barbara and clipped Marilyn in the head. She flopped overboard.

George stopped himself and looked toward the cliff.

"That bastard!"

"Marilyn!" Barbara called.

Barbara wiped her hand across her numbed cheek. There was blood.

"Fuck him," George said. "Let him do it. He claims his lawyer's got a copy of that DVD, but I'm going to kill him anyway."

George swung again at Barbara's head. The club made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air. Barbara rolled out of the dinghy and into the water as the club just missed her head.

Marilyn was floating face down on the lake. Barbara swam over to her and pulled Marilyn's head up and turned her over. Marilyn sputtered and coughed, then her eyes fluttered, but stayed closed. George began paddling away.

Barbara looked toward the shoreline, which was at least thirty yards away. She secured a lifeguard's hold on Marilyn and began dog paddling with one arm and both legs towards the bare rock at the bottom of the cliff. Their life jackets made it easier.

George kept paddling the dinghy away from them until he reached the other floating paddle. After he pulled that paddle in, he began rowing away towards the middle of the lake.

Barbara reached the base of the cliff and pulled Marilyn up onto the smooth rock shore. She was out of breath, her whole body felt heavy and sore and drained, but she held Marilyn in her arms and gently stroked Marilyn's face.

"Oooh, dah-link, come on, stay here, stay here-- "

Marilyn moaned, but her eyes stayed shut. She had a big blue lump on her forehead that trickled blood.

* * *

Dan sat recording the scene with his legs hanging over the cliff. Below him George was rowing toward other houseboats as fast as he could, but they were out on the middle of the lake, miles away. Barbara and Marilyn had gone out of sight behind a jut of the cliff. Dan snapped off the camera, took a final drink from his water bottle, tossed it aside, gathered up his .38, and started jogging back the way he came. He half-walked, half-jogged the distance, his thirst quickly returning as his mouth and throat dried from the desert air, his heavy breathing and the air temperature of 110 degrees. Still, he figured he could make it back to the houseboat before he became too dehydrated.

Off to the south, he thought he heard a faint thump-thumping. A few seconds later, he saw a helicopter, flying low, a dark spot on the horizon, its blades a blur, heading northeast in the direction of Marilyn's kiva. It soon ducked between buttes and was gone.

When he reached the top of the cliff above the Jolly Codger and looked down at the houseboat calmly anchored next to the canyon wall, his thirst suddenly vanished. He scrambled down the gentle cliff slope to the edge of the water. The houseboat was still anchored ten yards off shore, just as he had left it. He figured it had taken him almost an hour to get back. It felt like the sun was squatting on the top of his head. His cottony thirst returned and his lips were burning. After he stopped and caught his breath, he took off his shirt, wrapped up his camera, and placed it on the ground a couple of feet from the water's edge.

Holding the .38 above his head, he slipped into the water. It was cool and made him suck in his breath, but it took all the heat away. He tried floating on his back and kicking with his feet and so he made some slow progress. When he reached the houseboat, he grabbed onto what he could and placed the .38 on the aft deck. He hung there on the edge of the houseboat, still in the water, his lungs and bronchia on fire, fighting for breath. He decided he needed to start working out again.

Finally, Dan hauled himself onto the deck, and headed for the Jolly Codger's engines. He opened the engine cover, took the distributor rotors out of his pocket, put the rotors back on, and closed the cover. After he put the batteries back in the two-way radio and turned it on, he quenched his thirst with cold water from the refrigerator and took a minute to cool his head under the shower.

The cabin was a mess with belongings strewn everywhere and fruit all over the floor. He went to the helm station and started the engines, then pulled in the anchor line. Back at the helm Dan slowly eased open the throttle. The engines revved and groaned and the houseboat began to move. Dan, steering as close to the shore as he could, got the houseboat to within about ten feet of the shoreline and then cut the engines.

After tying a life buoy line securely to the railing, Dan eased back into the water, held onto the life buoy, and leg-kicked back to shore. When he reached it, he secured the camera above his head, and using the life buoy, leg-kicked again. When he got back to the houseboat, he put the camera onto the deck, and then hauled himself up.

Once on the deck, he stopped again to pant for breath.

* * *

Far out in the middle of the lake, George paddled on. He was breathless and confused from his fall off the cliff and his assault on Barbara. The cliffs looked all the same to him and with the sun now almost straight overhead beating on him he felt turned around and was unsure which direction to head for Dangling Rope Marina. He was sweating heavily and laboring, his lips had become painfully chapped, and a sun burn had negated his light tan and was beginning to sting him all over. Despite the Piz-Buin, his nose was sore and starting to peel. The nearest houseboats were still specks, and it was almost impossible to accurately estimate distance. The miles of soaring cliffs and islands faded into a hazy, white horizon. His thirst tormented him until he stopped paddling, leaned over, and drank all the water from Lake Powell he could hold.

VII

Barbara, still cradling Marilyn, watched the blue and white houseboat approaching. Dan cut the engines and eased it close to the rock. He came out on the foredeck and leaned over the railing.

"She's out cold," Barbara called.

She struggled to hoist Marilyn up.

"This is as close as I can get," Dan called back. "I can't chance grounding it."

Just as he said that, there was a sudden push from a current against the Jolly Codger, then a loud thunk from underneath it, followed by a scraping sound. The houseboat teetered at a slight angle and stopped floating.

"I think we just ran aground, goddamnit," Dan shouted.

He peered along the railing to try to see aft where it was grounded.

"Well, let's get Marilyn on the boat now. Can you bring her out? I'll toss out the life buoy and pull you in."

"I'll have to."

Barbara, using the same hold as before, slid into the water as she held onto Marilyn. Dan tossed out a life buoy, Barbara grabbed it, and he pulled them both in, helping to lift Marilyn onto the foredeck. Her eyes were half-opened, but she was still unconscious. Dan thought how stupid Marilyn looked, out cold, with a big lump on her face and wearing only her thong bikini.

He helped Barbara climb onto the deck. She flattened out on her back and labored for breath. Both of the women's cuts had stopped bleeding and were now washed clean by the lake.

"We have to get this damn thing floating again," Dan said.

After Barbara caught her breath, she and Dan slid into the water to check out where the Jolly Codger had run aground. They felt along underneath the side and worked backwards until their feet touched rock under the water near the starboard stern. Dan took a deep breath and dove under to feel around. He was amazed at how clear the water was and then he came back up.

"Looks like only a couple of square feet of the bottom of the houseboat are resting on the shallow rocks," he puffed. "But unfortunately one of the propellers is also setting on a big piece of rock that sticks out from the cliff. We'll have to push or lift the entire boat up. The key is finding leverage."

Feeling for good footing on the submerged rock, they put their shoulders to the corner of the Jolly Codger and strained, shoving off with their legs and using all their strength. The houseboat didn't move much.

"Rock it," Dan said, gasping.

They rocked it and pushed and rocked it some more but the Jolly Codger still wasn't floating freely.

"Stop," Dan said, trying to catch his breath and failing.

"It's those cigarettes," Barbara said.

"No, it's that damn propeller blade."

The sound of the helicopter came back. It appeared over the line of cliffs off to the east about two miles away. It was headed southwest back towards Wahweap Marina.

"I wonder who that is," Barbara said.

"It makes me nervous, whoever it is."

They watched it for a short minute until it disappeared beyond the horizon.

"Do they give helicopter tours up here like they do at the Grand Canyon?" Barbara asked.

"If they don't, they should."

The houseboat suddenly lurched on its own, made another scraping noise, and then the Jolly Codger was floating again. Dan shoved it hard, away from the rocks and gave Barbara a funny look. She shrugged.

"Anasazi lake spirits," she said.

They stood on the submerged jutting of the cliff, the water up to their chests, and watched the houseboat floating easy on the water again.

* * *

Marilyn was still out cold. On the couch Barbara held a large towel filled with ice on Marilyn's face and a smaller one against her own. She watched Dan as he opened up the Jolly Codger's engines to full throttle, but the houseboat still only did a sluggish crawl. Far ahead, George rowing in the dinghy was a tiny turquoise dot out in the lake, but the houseboat was slowly closing in.

"Fucking George."

"I got it on my camera," Dan said. "I have him shooting at me, too."

"You still have your gun? I need to use it."

"How did you find out about George and Marilyn?"

"I came home early one day and I could hear them laughing in the house," Barbara said. "I tiptoed around until I could tell they were in the bathroom. We have a really large shower room with four shower heads set at different heights. They were in there taking a shower."

"When was that?"

"Over a year ago."

"What did you do?"

"I went back outside and peeked in the bedroom window and waited. They went in there."

"And then?"

"And then I figured I could do as I damn pleased."

The radio squawked.

"Wahweap base to Jolly Codger, over. Wahweap base to Jolly Codger, over."

Dan picked up the radio. He was surprised how clear the little radio speaker was and how strong the signal was.

"This is the Jolly Codger. Is that you, Big Jack?"

"This is Big Jack from the Wahweap Marina. What's your twenty?"

"My twenty?"

"Location. What's your location?"

"We're out on the lake."

Big Jack began chuckling.

"I know that. Where 'xactly?"

"We're way out on the lake. I'd have to dig the map out. What's happening there, Big Jack?"

"This fella just came in here, said his name's Harley Camel and he needs to talk to you."

"Is he there?"

"He's standing right here."

"Put him on, Big Jack."

There was a pause.

"Mr. Carter?"

"Yes."

"This is Harley Camel."

"Camel?"

"Yes, sir, my last name's spelled C-A-M-P-B-E-L-L. Pronounced Camel."

"Did Mr. Clark send you up here with my package?"

"He did. And I have some other information for you."

"Good. Let's have it."

There was another pause.

"This is a private conversation, bud," Dan could faintly hear Harley say to Big Jack. Dan waited. He heard some other background talk and then Harley came back on.

"Sorry, Mr. Carter."

"Go ahead."

"You want this now? I don't know how secure this radio is."

"I don't care. Tell me."

"Fine, then. I believe your wife's real name-- that is, her birth name-- is Holly Fisher. She was born in Reseda, California, and after her parents were killed in a plane crash when she was eight, she was adopted by her maternal grandparents, Ted and Mary Bowman."

Dan looked at Barbara, whose mouth hung open funny.

"The Bowmans were apparently some kind of religious nuts," Harley went on, "and Holly ran away at age 17 and has a juvenile record in California. When she turned 18, she refused to go home even though Mrs. Bowman had died. Based upon driver's license photos from Florida and Wyoming, and her California juvenile mug shots, we think at age 19 she married an older man, a truck driver who lives in Casper, Wyoming, named Al Chartrand. She disappeared after six months and Mr. Chartrand divorced her."

"That's a mouthful of names," Dan interrupted. He paused. "Casper, Wyoming?"

Harley Campbell went on.

"Seems she contacted a friend in Canoga Park, California, right after she married Mr. Chartrand, who owns a small long haul trucking firm," Harley said. "That's how we made that connection. This P.I. in Miami working on the Blackwelder case tracked that one down for me."

"So for sure she was married to James Blackwelder in Miami?" Dan asked.

"Blackwelder's family's seen her California, Arizona, and Wyoming pictures and say that's her."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I'm a nosy guy," Harley said. "I also got a tip about a Dr. George Ayers."

"About George!" Dan shouted.

Barbara's face went slack. Just then Marilyn groaned loudly, shifted on the couch, and tried to sit up, still groggy.

"Where are we?" Marilyn asked and looked around.

"Still on the lake," Dan said.

"Mr. Carter?" Harley said over the radio.

"Harley, can you wait there till we get back?" Dan said. "Probably be in a few hours."

"Okay, Mr. Carter. You're paying for the time."

"No problem," Dan said. "Just sit tight and don't talk to anybody and wait for us."

"Fine."

"Jolly Codger over and out or ten-four or whatever the hell you're supposed to say."

The radio went silent.

"Where's George?" Marilyn asked.

"George knocked you into the lake and then rowed off," Barbara said. "I pulled you out."

"What happened?" Marilyn asked.

"George smashed your head with my golf club."

"He tried to kill you," Dan said. "I have it on my camera."

Marilyn made a puzzled face, as if she half-remembered.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked. She studied Dan's stubble. "Didn't I buy you some shaving cream? I wish you'd shave. You look like a bum."

"Marilyn, I forgot to tell you something."

"What?"

"The shaving cream you bought me-- I'm sorry, I lost it."

Marilyn's eyes began to clear. She kept studying Dan's face.

"Fuck you," she finally said and rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up. "Were you talking to someone on the radio, or was I having a weird dream?"

She fumbled through the stuff on the table for her pack of cigarettes.

"Just Big Jack calling," Dan said. "Routine radio check."

Barbara started to speak, but Dan shook his head "no."

Dan took the Sundowner Motel matchbook from the table and tossed it at Marilyn.

"Light a cigarette," he said. "I saved your matches for you."

* * *

In half an hour, the Jolly Codger came up on George paddling in the dinghy. It was still miles to any other houseboats or the marina. George was tired and barely paddling. Dan bore on toward George, who tried to turn the dinghy as the houseboat came up on him. Then George stopped paddling and reached for Barbara's five iron.

Dan cut the engines.

"Can you take the wheel?" Dan asked Barbara.

"Only if I can run over him."

Barbara took over the helm as Dan found his .38.

"What are you going to do?" Barbara asked.

"I haven't decided yet," Dan said.

"I have," Barbara said. "I want to personally shoot his balls off."

Dan moved out to the foredeck. He held his .38 at his side, out of George's sight. The Jolly Codger drifted over to bump the dinghy.

"Get out of that piss ant rowboat and get up here," Dan said. "I've found out some things you'd probably like to know."

George, still not seeing Dan holding the .38, tried to stand up in the dinghy.

"Your fucking ass is about to be arrested," Dan said.

"You perturb me," George said.

He whirled, the five iron swishing through the air.

"Put that damn thing down!" Dan shouted.

George swung the golf club toward Dan's shin, but missed.

"George!"

Dan aimed the .38 and fired. The bullet hit the dinghy, making a small hole in the bottom of the fiberglass where a thin fountain of water began spurting up through it. George ducked, lunged, and swung the golf club again in between the railing and hit Dan flush on the left shin with the sharp edge of the club head.

Dan screamed and reacted involuntarily by squeezing the trigger. The .38 went off again and a bullet tore into his left leg, grazing bone and muscle. He dropped the revolver on the deck, fell, and writhed around, groaning loudly.

"Goddamn!" he grunted. "Goddamn!"

Blood began oozing from his leg. He wondered how his leg could feel icy and burning at the same time. The houseboat's deck was scalding hot against Dan's face. He suddenly felt sick. He dragged himself to the edge of the boat and hung his head over it. The water reminded him of royal blue ink but smelled weirdly of dust and then everything came up. After a few moments, he lay there breathing heavily and staring at his fresh vomit floating on the surface of the lake.

The dinghy was quickly filling with water. As Dan was vomiting, George, off balance and splashing water, grabbed at the railing and scrambled out of the wildly rocking dinghy and onto the foredeck. He brandished the five iron and paused for a moment to look at Dan, then started to pick up the revolver. Dan lay there with the side of his face pressed against the hot deck, too dizzy to move, watching George.

A golf ball whizzed past George's head and into the lake.

"Hey, George!" Barbara called. "Hey, George! I want a divorce!"

From inside the cabin, Barbara reared back and threw another golf ball through the open sliding door at George. Marilyn was holding the video camera and recording him. He ducked too late. The ball hit him hard under his eye and he grabbed his cheekbone.

"Marilyn!" he shouted.

Marilyn looked through the camera's viewfinder as she gave George the finger. Barbara kept throwing golf balls as one ball and then another plunked into George. He covered his head and knelt down to hold his smarting eye and cheekbone.

"Hey, George!" Barbara called. "I said I want a divorce!"

The golf balls stopped and George looked up.

"Barbara!" George shouted. "Would you fucking stop?"

George groped around for the .38, picked it up, and gripped it with his finger on the trigger. He edged towards Barbara, crawling through the open foredeck door as Barbara and Marilyn went out the aft cabin door. Once inside, George peered toward the abandoned helm and stood up. Barbara reappeared through the aft door, holding the canvas bag full of golf balls. She dumped them toward George.

Four dozen golf balls started rolling along the cabin deck towards him. First he tried to aim the .38 and shoot at Barbara, but then she flung one of the white plastic deck chairs at him, which knocked him off balance. Then Barbara and Marilyn disappeared from his sight line. He looked around, trying to find Dan to get a clear shot while he tried to kick the golf balls away, which kept rolling under his feet. His feet got tangled up in the legs of the askew deck chair. He lost his balance, started to slip on a single rolling ball, grabbed for the nook table to catch his balance but missed, and pitched forward.

As George hit the deck he landed hard on his right elbow. The jolt made him fire the .38 and he shot himself in the right temple. Both George and the revolver made muffled thuds when they fell on the deck. George lay motionless, face down, as golf balls continued to roll around him. Blood began flowing onto the deck out of the gaping wound in the back of his head.

Dan had watched the shooting, but he was still too light-headed to try to stand. He crawled to the threshold and peered into the cabin. The backside of George's head was partly blown open, his silver hair thick with blood and shards of skull and pieces of gray brain matter.

"George?" Barbara called from the roof. "What happened?"

Dan looked out on the lake and saw that the dinghy was mostly underwater, three-fourths sunk. He pulled himself into sitting position and managed to get his Henley shirt off over his head. He used it as best he could to tie a tourniquet just below his knee. Part of his Levis pant leg was torn. He could only glance at his gunshot wound. It was still bleeding but not gushing. It looked like the bullet had torn through the meaty part of his calf, missing an artery, but clipping his bone. It wasn't hurting much anymore. A thick flap of skin was laid open and he could see the red muscle fibers of his calf and little white beads between the fibers that he figured must be fat. There was also a big red lump and abrasion on his shin from the golf club.

Marilyn and Barbara climbed back down from the roof and Barbara ran back inside the cabin. Marilyn slowly followed behind, carrying the video camera. Dan crawled over to George.

"What happened?" Barbara asked. "Did you see anything?"

"He slipped and fell and shot himself," Dan said.

Marilyn kept staring at George, but she kept the video camera pointed downward at her side and shook her head. Dan crawled closer and turned George over, who stared open eyed and vacant. His mouth was hanging open, too, and he had a surprised look on his face. A small piece of mashed banana clung to his chin. There was a small neat hole on the side of his head where the bullet went in, but the other side of his head was a mess where the bullet went out. His blood made a painted smear on the deck. Golf balls randomly roamed the deck with the slight rocking of the houseboat. The deck chair lay sideways, its legs sticking out. George's fingers still clutched the revolver.

George was dead.

"Looks like you won't have to divorce him now," Dan said.

"And you won't get your thousand dollars," Marilyn said.

"Then I won't get to shoot him, either," Barbara said.

"You could still shoot him," Dan said. "If you really wanted to."

For long moments Dan heard only his breathing and the faint lapping of the waves against the houseboat.

"Do something!" Marilyn shouted.

From his pants Dan removed the damp towel that was still stained with ketchup, unfolded it, and covered George's head.

"Can you call for help on the radio?" Barbara asked. "Maybe they have a helicopter."

"I need a cigarette," Marilyn said.

Her hands trembling, she lit another cigarette and took a deep drag.

"Let's just push George overboard," she said. "We'll say he fell off the boat and drowned. We couldn't help him. It all happened too fast when we weren't looking. He was drunk. They'll never find him. Clean up the blood. We'll all be off the hook. There's no evidence-- "

"If he doesn't have any water in his lungs now, he'll probably just float," Barbara said.

"Weight him down. He'll sink to the bottom."

"Why in the hell do you want to dump George in the lake?"

"He has a bullet wound to the head, Marilyn," Barbara said. "In case they ever find him. And how about explaining the dinghy? It sank, didn't it?"

"The dinghy slipped away and we lost it somewhere."

"Don't make it so damned complicated," Dan said. "George shot himself. That's it. That's what happened. He shot himself. Accidentally."

Marilyn bent over close to Dan's face.

"If you won't help shove him into the lake, I'm going to tell them you shot him," she said. "How do I know you didn't just shoot him while we were up on the roof and then plant the gun in his hand? You'll be convicted of murder."

"I ain't touching him," Dan said. "Besides, Marilyn, they won't just take your word for it."

Dan watched Marilyn smoke her cigarette, her eyes squinting as she tried to think. He realized he hated the way she held the cigarette between her fingers, like scissors. And he hated it even more that he cared that he hated it.

"It'll be our word against yours," Dan said.

Marilyn put her arm around Barbara and let her hand slip lower.

"You don't know about Barbara and me, do you?"

"Don't be hysterical, Marilyn," Barbara said and eased Marilyn's hand away.

"You stupid bastard," Marilyn said. She began pointing her cigarette at Dan and gesturing. "You made a video which shows your motive to kill George. Then you decided to leave it out for us to find last night and now Barbara and I have seen it. I know you probably kept several copies in a safe place for them to find, but they'll use that to fry you up here."

Dan, his mind clearing fast, tried to stand up. He couldn't, so he sat halfway up and leaned against the cabin wall. He was able to focus on his shoes, the left shoe being dark red and damp with his blood from his leg wound, the right shoe merely spattered.

"What's wrong with the truth, Marilyn?" Barbara asked.

Marilyn smiled, put her arm around Barbara and kissed her on the cheek.

"The truth is overrated," Marilyn said.

"She doesn't love you, Barbara."

"I know," Barbara said.

She backed away from Marilyn.

"And she doesn't love me, either," Dan said. "So I want a divorce." He paused. "And I want Danny."

"Dan hired a private investigator," Barbara said. "He was just telling Dan over the radio what he's found out."

"Found out about what?"

"Marilyn, what's your real name?" Barbara asked.

"Why? What does Dan's snoop think it is?"

"I had my trust changed before we came up here," Dan said. "So it doesn't matter what your name is. Danny gets it all. And I'm still going to get custody of Danny."

"Goddamn you."

Marilyn ran out to the foredeck and flung Dan's camera overboard. It made a thunk-splash and sank out of sight as she walked back inside like a model on a catwalk, dragging on her cigarette.

"Everything was on that!" Dan shouted. "George shooting me in the desert, his fighting you in the lake-- "

His shouting made him feel weak and breathless. The golf balls that were still slowly rolling around the deck made him feel giddy.

"I wish you'd shoot him," Marilyn said to Barbara.

"Why don't you shoot me, Marilyn?" Dan said.

Marilyn pulled the .38 away from George's stiffening fingers. She aimed at Dan, but her hands began shaking again and made the smoke coming off the end of her cigarette wavy.

"That camera cost a thousand bucks, Marilyn."

"Then dive in for it," Marilyn said.

"Marilyn! Marilyn!" Barbara called.

"No! I'll shoot him now and we'll be together for sure."

"If you shoot him now, they'll think we both did it. We'll be together—in different prisons."

"Never!"

"The mother of my son doesn't even have her real name on his birth certificate," Dan said.

He felt his voice cracking and he couldn't stop it. He didn't know if it was his loss of blood, or the pain in his leg, and the curl of Marilyn's lip, but he knew everything had drained out of him. He went light-headed and far away.

"So you can shoot me now," he said.

To Dan lying wounded on the deck and staring at the large bruise on Marilyn's face, it seemed in slow motion again like his father's accident as Marilyn screwed her face up into a hateful glare, and from two feet away, aimed the .38's barrel at Dan's head.

"Shoot me!"

"Marilyn, don't!" Barbara shouted.

Marilyn's hands flinched at Barbara's shout and her finger squeezed on the trigger. The revolver went off, but her hands were shaking so badly that she missed. There was a gazong sound next to Dan's ear when the bullet went through the aluminum of the cabin wall. A strange hard compression of air from the slug zipped past his ear and his eardrum went numb. Marilyn's eyes widened when she saw that Dan wasn't shot.

"You stupid bitch," Dan said.

"I missed on purpose."

She tried to steady herself and aimed again.

Marilyn's hands began shaking, her finger twitching on the trigger.

"Shoot me," Dan said. "Shoot me—Holly—Holly Fisher."

"Yes!" Marilyn shouted and aimed again at Dan's face.

When Barbara tried to grab for the .38, Dan let out a long, low strained sound as he reached out and grabbed both of Marilyn's bare ankles, and pulled on them as hard as he could. Barbara, thrown awkwardly off balance, took a clumsy step as a single golf ball rolled under her foot. She slipped and banged her chin hard on the edge of the nook table. As she went limp, her eyes clamped shut, a small jet of blood squirted from her sliced open chin, and she crumpled to the deck.

Marilyn screamed again, kicked out her legs, and went down beside Dan. As she landed, she hit the back of her head on the deck, stunning her. The .38 flew out of her hand through the open door, skipped and slid across the foredeck and dropped into the lake.

Dan's delayed adrenalin rush kicked in as he sprawled across her and everything that had gone away in him came back. He took her bikini top in his hands, ripped it, and kept ripping and pulling until he'd gotten it off of her. Marilyn's eyes fluttered open and she began slapping at him, screaming and cursing. Her freed breasts were jiggling wildly. He felt his throat making guttural noises.

He took the turquoise stone of her necklace into his right fist, pulling and twisting as hard as he could on the chain until he was choking her with it. The muscles in his arms and hands tightened until he didn't think he could let go.

"You are so fucking stupid!" Dan screamed.

Marilyn's face began to turn purple, her tongue stuck out, her eyes bulged, her nipples went hard like bullets and the veins in her neck stood out. Unable to breathe, and so unable to make a sound, she rocked and clawed at him. Vaguely, Dan heard himself emitting grunting sounds and felt his eyes filling with tears from the straining. He was beginning to feel light-headed again.

As he kept squeezing on the necklace chain, he stared into Marilyn's fading eyes. She slowed and then stopped her clawing and thrashing. He felt her weakening, ready to pass out. He pressed against her, harder. His jaw muscles clamped and his hands and forearms were tiring from his squeezing them so hard. His body went rigid. Marilyn's eyes were beginning to roll upwards into her head and slowly starting to close. Her face had become a dull purple. Two golf balls rolled against the side of Marilyn's head and stayed there.

Dan gasped for air and blinked, trying to focus as he felt a rush building and a great shudder passed through him. His hands squeezed and twisted even harder on the chain. He felt like he was both lightly floating and falling heavily. He groaned loud and long. Marilyn went slack as her hands dropped to the deck.

* * *

When Dan woke up, he tried to pull himself up, but he could not. He was no longer lying on top of Marilyn. She lay beside him, still, open eyes staring at the ceiling, a bright red ring around her neck from Dan's squeezing of the necklace chain. Barbara lay further away, unmoving, her back to him and her arm bent at a funny angle. Blood was dribbling from her open lips. Dan thought he saw her breathing slightly. When he looked over at George, he thought of a dead lizard he had seen up on the plateau.

Dan's leg had gone from icy hot to numb and his ears rang. Something felt sticky. He reached down and felt a large wet circle on his pants.

Goddamn, I'm thirsty, he thought. No, I'm going to be sick.

He tried to pull himself out to the foredeck, remembering everything that had come up the first time, but he didn't make it and did dry heaves over George.

* * *

Dan became aware he was lying in a very bright room and that a phone was ringing very loudly close to him. Answer the phone, for Christ's sake, he thought. Answer the phone.

A nurse leaned close to his face.

"About time you woke up," she said.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the recovery room in Page Hospital."

The phone ringing finally stopped. With his hand Dan felt something wrapped around his wounded leg. It was a cast, wrapped tightly with gauze bandages and white medical tape. His leg felt like an elephant was sitting on it.

"Briscoe Covell, sheriff of Coconino County."

Dan tried to focus his eyes on Sheriff Covell who was standing over him. The sheriff's aviator shades seemed to move in woozy circles. Dan moved his hand to feel the needle taped to the top of his right hand. It was part of an IV line.

"I suppose you had a few hours before we got out to the boat to get your story straight," the sheriff said. "And monkey with any evidence-- such as tossing a pistol into the lake."

Sheriff Covell stared at Dan and kept pressing his tongue against the inside of his lower lip.

"We found something on the houseboat," he said.

He held up the something wrapped in plastic.

"We found this in the toilet tank."

The sheriff pulled away the plastic and revealed Marilyn's Anasazi pot. Dan knew his mind was not straight but he couldn't understand why the nurses were allowing Sheriff Covell to bring something from a toilet tank into the hospital recovery room.

"Could you take off your sunglasses?" Dan asked.

Covell removed them slowly and folded them carefully into his shirt pocket. His eyes were cold blue.

"Removing Indian relics from a National Recreation Area is a federal offense," Covell said. "The park rangers here frown on that sort of activity. We know we got a big smuggling operation going on up here and it looks like we're close to busting it."

"My wife was smuggling that pot," Dan said. "I had nothing to do with it. She was trying to hide it."

"So you knew she was doing it? That's conspiracy and accessory-- "

"Do I have the right to remain silent?" Dan asked. "My head's not too clear."

Dan also could feel the ice pain in his leg starting again.

"You ain't been arrested yet."

The sheriff stared at Dan too long, until Dan figured out that the strange thing Covell was doing with his lip and tongue was pinching on smokeless tobacco.

"Generally, we view these multiple couples who go out alone on houseboats as a suspicious situation," Covell said. "You should know that it's much better to cooperate with us now because every little thing you do or say otherwise only makes me so much more suspicious."

"All right," Dan said. "An untrained man was playing with a loaded firearm and it discharged."

Dan heard himself speaking and wondered how he could stop himself. He remembered something he had read somewhere about sodium pentothal being a truth serum and that sodium pentothal was what they used as anesthesia for surgery.

The sheriff looked exasperated. He took his hat off and scratched his head.

"Looks like it discharged at least twice to me," Covell said. "Let's hear it."

"It was very simple," Dan said. He felt like he was watching himself on his own video camera, but he kept talking. "We were playing with a .38 revolver and I shot myself in the leg. Then George shot himself in the head. Accidentally. We'd been drinking."

"And I suppose those bruises and cuts on your wife's neck were self-inflicted too?"

Dan started, feeling the IV needle dig into his hand.

"Where's Marilyn?"

Dan's eyes began to focus better. The recovery room was very bright. There were several nurses and a man in a lab coat. The man looked like a doctor and was standing next to Covell. The phone started ringing again. Leaning against the wall was another man who had a pale pink face and was wearing a lemon yellow linen suit with a navy blue fedora. Dan had never seen that man before. Dan looked around at all of them and tried to sit up.

"What happened to Marilyn?"

"Your wife is dead, Mr. Carter," Covell said. "She was found sprawled on the inside deck of that houseboat, wearing only thong bikini bottoms. They say it appears she had her oxygen cut off. That is, she was strangled. There'll be an autopsy. And we found you on the boat unconscious with this clutched in your hand."

Covell held out a large plastic baggie marked EVIDENCE that contained Marilyn's turquoise necklace with the heavy broken silver chain. Dan couldn't figure out how the sheriff could juggle all those plastic bags.

"We also have a real big plastic bag with your undershorts in it." Sheriff Covell bent close to Dan's face. "You pervert."

"I'm not saying anything else until I speak with my attorney," Dan said.

Covell straightened up and smiled.

"I figure a man who don't want to talk freely with the sheriff must have something to hide. You should know that Mrs. Ayers is recovering from surgery for a broken jaw. She also had a deep gash in her tongue that had to be sewed up. So she's very sore and can't hardly talk right now. But before her surgery she wrote one sentence on a pad for us."

"What's that?"

"She wrote, 'It's all Dan.'"

Dan tried to pull himself up so he could sit but he was too weak.

"What about the helicopter?" he asked.

"What about what helicopter?"

"Mr. Carter, I'm Dr. Wayne," the man in the white lab coat said. "Sheriff, nothing Mr. Carter says probably makes any sense because of the anesthesia. This can wait."

"You have a choice," Covell said. "If you and Mrs. Ayers both refuse to talk, then you'll both fry. If she talks, then she gets the deal and you fry. If you talk, you get the deal and she fries. If you both talk, you could still both fry. Got it?"

* * *

It was the day after Dan's surgery. The anesthesia had worn off and the Demerol was almost wearing off. As Dan had lain there all day, his head had finally begun to clear. The pain in his leg helped the increasing clarity along with the bright outdoor light coming through the Venetian blinds and he decided that for now that was a good thing. By late afternoon he awoke from another brief nap and felt like watching some television, but as he was figuring out how to push the button to page the nurse, he noticed the man in the yellow suit sitting close to his bed.

"Are you Harley?" Dan asked.

"Yes." Harley had a quiet, soft voice. "The sheriff's been checking every half hour to see if you're lucid yet."

"Is my marriage even legal?"

"You'll have to ask Mr. Clark about that," Harley said.

"Just as long as I get Danny. Did you bring the package?"

"Yes," Harley said, "and I'm going to have to turn it over to the sheriff because if I don't and that fake redneck Covell finds out, I'll get my P.I. license yanked. I wanted to tell you that first."

"I understand. I guess I need to talk to Clark."

"He's only a civil lawyer, but he can recommend you a good criminal attorney."

Harley bent close to Dan. He spoke even more softly.

"I'm a curious kind of guy so I opened your package and looked at it."

"But the seal-- "

"Not a problem. It's been resealed. Nobody can tell. Anyway, I looked up the assets of Dr. George Ayers and asked around. He owned real estate all over Phoenix, all of it now worth a lot more than what he paid for it. A lot more. As in millions more. Plus he owned four pharmacies for the cash flow and the pills. And he had a $2 million term life insurance policy with his wife as beneficiary. And no will."

"Damn. Barbara gets it all?"

"She gets it all. Whether she helped kill anybody or not."

There was a noise at the door and Sheriff Covell barged in. He was holding up George's mini-recorder.

"We found this this morning on that houseboat," the sheriff said. "And we've already played it."

"Anything you want to tell me about the relationships among the four of you-- the deceased persons and you and Mrs. Ayers, I think you need to tell me."

"I got nothing to tell," Dan said. "Does Harley get to listen?"

"He already has."

"Should I hear this, Harley?"

"You're going to hear it sooner or later," Harley said.

"All right, play it."

The sheriff pressed the recorder's play button. The sound was muffled and tinny.

"I've been keeping this on ice," Dan said.

Marilyn screeched.

"Relax," George said. "It's not loaded."

There was a short click and then the boom of a revolver firing. Marilyn screeched again and there was some thumping and banging.

"Dan!" Marilyn shouted. "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

Dan laughed like an hysterical drunk.

"How's my little hobgoblin?" he asked George.

"Dan, please calm down," Marilyn said.

"Oh, I'd never shoot George. He's my friend. . . Although I might arrange some electroshock treatments for him-- Would you like that, George?"

"Dan, please don't shoot anymore," Marilyn said.

"Fine. Let's all sit down." There was a pause. "George, come out from under that table. You don't look very professional down there."

There was more thumping and shuffling. Then the tape went silent.

"That sure sounds like you, Mr. Carter," the sheriff said. "You and Mrs. Ayers had a little plan. It almost worked."

Dan stared at Sheriff Covell's badge. Marilyn had thought of everything. Well, almost everything.

"Ask Barbara about that recording. She was there."

"Like I said, you two've had plenty of time to get your story straight," Sheriff Covell said. "My theory of the case, Mr. Carter, is that you got some information about your wife from Harley a few days ago, and in a jealous fit, and in cahoots with Barbara Ayers, who stood to gain big time from Dr. Ayers' death, you two decided to take the law into your own hands. And that rag stained with ketchup placed over Dr. Ayers's head. What a touch!"

"Barbara had nothing to do with this."

"So you're confessing you're the lone killer?"

"You're a fucking incompetent!" Dan screamed.

It made his head feel blown up like a balloon.

"Sheriff, cut the tough redneck hick crap, and let me talk to Dan alone," Harley said in a soft voice.

"All right," the sheriff said, "but I want you to know this, Mr. Campbell. This man's going to be punished. That's the basis for order around here. And I don't care what kind of deal his lawyer tries to make with that sissy D.A. over in Flag. I know this man's done something sometime to somebody and I'm going to make him pay."

Sheriff Covell looked straight at Dan.

"There's only two things you're going to need where I'm going to take you," he said.

"What's that?"

"A toothbrush and some vaseline."

* * *

Big Jack and Ernest came in while Harley sat reading the local paper and sipping coffee from a vending machine. They introduced themselves. Big Jack had brought a six-pack of cold Coca-Cola cans from his boat shack and handed one to Dan.

"Thanks."

Dan drank it quickly. The afternoon sunlight had begun to fade so Harley turned some lights on.

"Are we still going to talk business on those digital gas pumps?" Big Jack asked.

"As soon as we can."

Ernest had brought his guitar case. He opened it up, took out his big Guild, and began playing "Ain't Gonna Rain No More."

"You relics of civilization come up here from Phoenix and we wind up with dead people every week," Ernest said. "Usually drowning. Gunshot wound-- maybe once a month. The man who got shot-- a good friend of yours?"

"A good friend of my wife's."

"Appreciate your honesty," Ernest said. "I'm very sorry about your wife. I brought you a get well present."

Ernest reached into his guitar case and took out a slightly tattered copy of a big movie book, The Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film, and gave it to Dan.

Dan looked inside the front cover. "Ernest Whiteman" was written in large, careful print.

"Give you something to read while you're laid up in here," Ernest said.

"I saw your book on Western films out at the dock," Dan said. "You're a big movie fan?"

"Movies are one of the few things white people do well."

"Do you know of any movie that was ever made at a place like this that has a big lake and dam?"

"Planet of the Apes was shot here, where Charlton Heston's space ship crashes."

"I mean like a thriller."

"Oh sure, there was a Hitchcock film."

"Yeah? Which one?"

"Saboteur," Ernest said. "With Robert Cummings. Made during World War II."

"Did Robert Cummings push somebody off the dam?"

"Oh, no. You're thinking of another movie. 711 Ocean Drive. Edmund O'Brien. Some gangsters get heaved off Boulder Dam at the end."

"I knew it! I knew I'd seen it years ago on TV. Man, how did you know that?"

Ernest smiled modestly.

"Nothing else to do in the desert. I recommend Halliwell's Guide. Why'd you want to know?"

"I just wanted to make sure I'd won an honest bet."

"Did you shoot that man over a bet like that?"

"No," Dan said. "He shot himself when he found out he'd lost."

"That Thunderbird-- that's your car?"

"Of course it's my car."

"It's a nice car," Ernest said. "You see, we found something in your car I've been wondering about."

"What were you doing in my car?"

Ernest took something out of his back pocket and held it up. It was the archaeology pamphlet that Dan had picked up at the Visitor's Center.

"Says right here that taking ancient relics from around this area is a crime," Ernest said.

"Why do you care?"

"I got to know your wife pretty well recently," Ernest said. "Like I said, I'm sorry about her death. I found out a lot of things about her you probably don't know, either."

From his guitar case Ernest took a wad of rolled currency that was inside a large plastic baggie. Dan began to think about when he had seen Marilyn talking to Ernest on the dock. He again remembered seeing the helicopter flying near the kiva. He also thought about his lawyer and Harley but said nothing as he began to have a strange, floating sensation.

"I guess I should've mentioned to you that Big Jack and I are with the FBI," Ernest said.

He placed the pamphlet and the money on Dan's bed and produced his FBI badge. Big Jack smiled and showed Dan his badge, too.

"Your wife paid with this money for that Anasazi pot we found in the toilet tank," Big Jack said. "We know it was her because her prints are all over it. The plastic wrapping protected and preserved them well."

"I flew the helicopter," Ernest said. "I flew it out to the houseboat and found you. I love to fly helicopters and play guitar."

* * *

"This is my full and free confession," Dan began.

He paused to stare into the video camera then glanced at the court reporter who was running it. In his hand Dan held a copy of the signed court order granting temporary custody of Danny to his mother.

He looked around his hospital room. Sheriff Covell was there, and a new face, the sheriff from over in Utah who looked like every other Mormon Dan ever knew. There was Big Jack, and Ernest Whiteman, and Harley, and John Nash Clark III, and Barbara, whose jaw was wired shut, her face swollen and blue, bandages covering her chin. She sat in a wheelchair and mostly stared out the window.

It was several days after his surgery and he was ready to be discharged from the hospital. Intense daylight filled the room. Dan had asked that the window blinds be opened so he could look outside down the mesa to see the blue sliver of Lake Powell crooking through the desert.

He and Clark and Harley had talked till very late the night before. Harley had given the sealed video to the sheriff. Clark had told Dan that there was a good criminal lawyer in Phoenix, but it was going to cost. A lot. And that the trial would be in Utah. Then Clark explained the temporary insanity defense and its variation, the jealous rage defense. There was also the mistaken vigilante defense, the amnesia defense, the it-was-an-accident defense, the I-couldn't-have-done-it-because-I-was-incapacitated defense, the I-was-so-drunk-I-don't-remember defense, the self-defense defense, the someone-else-did-it defense, the make-them-prove-it defense, possible combinations of the aforementioned defenses, or in the alternative, the plea bargaining to a lesser offense, or just a simple guilty plea, that being the no-defense defense.

"I'm not going to squander Danny's inheritance on some lawyer," Dan had told them. "I'll just record a statement."

Dan had insisted on the statement. A few minutes past midnight Clark had ended his lawyerly objections and relented.

"And be sure to give that Anasazi T-shirt I left in the car to Danny," Dan said.

After they left, Dan lay awake for hours longer. He tried reading the Psychotronic book Ernest had left him, but he couldn't concentrate. He turned off the light and listened for hours to a lone coyote that howled somewhere out in the sagebrush but close enough to be heard through the closed window.

Dan began his statement. "The last few days have brought clarity," he said as he looked into the camera. "First, I did have knowledge of Marilyn's plans to steal and smuggle the Indian pots, but I did not help her in any way, and I have no knowledge of anyone she was involved with. I thought the whole thing was pretty stupid.

"The video that Harley gave to the sheriff will prove what George and Marilyn were trying to do. And it also proves that at any time I could have called the authorities and shown them the video, but I chose not to do that.

"I planned to go to the lake with Marilyn and George, trick them into being video recorded performing even more incriminating acts, and cause them great humiliation when I turned all that over to the authorities. I was doing everything I did in order to ensure that I would receive custody of my son Danny at any divorce proceeding. At no time did I tell Barbara Ayers anything about any of my plans.

"While we were out on the lake we all drank too much, and argued a lot, and I played some pranks on George, which enraged him. George shot himself when he slipped on all the golf balls rolling across the cabin floor while he was waving the .38 around--"

"I can't believe that!" the sheriff shouted. "What were all those goddamn golf balls doing rolling around on the deck?"

Dan glanced over at Barbara who only kept staring out the window.

"Sheriff, this is Dan's statement," Clark said sharply. "This is not an interrogation."

The sheriff took his handcuffs off his belt and went swiftly over to Dan's bed. He grabbed Dan's arm and snapped one of the cuffs on Dan and the other to the bed frame.

"You're under arrest now, bud."

"He's in the middle of his statement!" Clark said.

"Lying in order to beat a murder rap-- " the sheriff began.

Covell's tanned face had become bright crimson.

"I've seen it many times!"

"There will be no more statement if you try to intimidate my client."

"It's okay," Dan said. "It's all being recorded."

"Easy, Briscoe," Ernest said.

"I'll watch this later," Covell said and left the room, banging the door as hard as he could as he went out. It echoed in that funny, hollow, institutional way.

"Go ahead, Dan," Clark finally said.

Dan continued by telling what was still bright and clear in his memory and told exactly how George had shot himself in the head. Dan stopped and looked over at Ernest.

"Who the hell would make all this up?" Dan asked.

"I believe you, Dan," Ernest said. "Go on."

Dan told how Barbara got hurt, then he said, "I fell on top of Marilyn and started choking her with her necklace."

Dan stopped. His statement had come easily to him so far. For a moment he couldn't get his breath as his throat tightened. His chest began to feel squeezed. He glanced through the window. Under the cloudless sky the desert and the lake looked so real as to be an unreal painting. He could hear a coyote howling, somewhere. He closed his eyes. If he closed his eyes he could breathe, but he knew he had to look straight at the camera with his eyes open so he did.

"I started choking her and I kept it up. At any time I could have stopped. But I didn't."

His mouth dropped open as he looked around the room. He thought at any moment that he would be overpowered by violent seizures and that his head would fall off his shoulders and start rolling around on the floor. Finally, his diaphragm contracted and he drew his breath in a high-pitched wheeze.

"I'm finished with my statement." He swallowed. "Turn it off."

Clark nodded to the court reporter, who clicked the camera off.

"You can show that to the D. A. and let him decide what should be done with me."

Dan rubbed his stubbled face hard with his right hand to make sure his face and his hand were both still his.

Ernest shook first his walking stick, then shook his head.

"What tribe are you?" Dan asked.

Ernest pushed the door open with his shoulder.

"You white people."

# # #

Land of Dreams by Eugene Lester will be released December 2012.

Connect with Eugene Lester at his blog:

www.relicsofcivilization.typepad.com
