“I know you do favors for the guards. I know they do you favors in return.” (That’s one way to put it, Ryan had thought. Hunter had a skill for eliminating problems the prison had grown tired of. At least if the rumors were true. Which they were.) “Please, do this for me, Hunter. Sarah Powers is coming to see me tomorrow. Meet with her. Don’t let them turn her away.”
“Why would they turn her away?”
“Because I’m dying.”
Hunter had said nothing.
“Make sure they give her this. Please. Sarahhasto have it.”
Hunter had reached through the bars to take something The Chief had offered. “A letter?”
“And this.” Later, Ryan had found The Chief had passed Hunter his little leather pouch. “Hunter, tell her… tell Sarah the mountain—”
Ryan came back to the present as Hunter worked his way down his cigarette. The man was giving him the lay of the land. Apparently, Sarah Powers, of all fucking people, was here, at the Brake Inn Motel. She was working for Frank O’Shea, though Ryan felt like this should bother him more. It didn’t. Somehow, for reasons he still couldn’t explain, Ryan felt like Frank O’Shea was the least of his problems tonight.
The mercury lamps burst to life over their heads. A halo of light spread around the motel. Out in the dark, an owl let out a nerve-splittingSHRIEKthat made every hair on Ryan’s arms stand on end. It made Ryan want to get back inside.
Hunter wanted to know what Ryan was doing here, which was fair enough, but Ryan didn’t go into much detail about Penelope or Stanley or the drive from Mexico City, and Hunter didn’t pry. Ryan rubbed his throbbing skull. Why wasn’t the nicotine helping this headache?
For his part, Hunter seemed just as distracted. Or maybehauntedwas the better word. In a small voice, almost a frightened one, “Do you remember that last night with The Chief? The way he wanted me to pass a message to Sarah?”
Hunter was still just as unnerved by that night as Ryan.
Ryan replied, “?‘The mountain is getting restless.’ Did you ever figure out what he meant by that?”
Hunter grew still, his cigarette halfway to his mouth. He stared across all that desert past the edge of the motel’s lights. All that dark.
He was silent so long, Ryan said, “You all right?”
In reply, Hunter turned to look down the back of the motel, and Ryan found himself following his gaze. They both saw the same thing, though Ryan struggled to believe his eyes.
“Am I crazy?” Ryan said. “Or does that mountain look bigger than it did a few minutes ago?”
Hunter looked away. He shook off some shivers. “You got another cigarette?”
“You can have the whole pack. They aren’t helping.”
“I just need the one.”
Ryan handed it over, though he wished his friend wouldn’t partake. Considering the wheeze in the man’s lungs, the Hunter of Huntsville should probably quit while he was ahead.
“Can you do me one other favor?” Hunter said.
Ryan hesitated, a cigarette between his fingers. He was bad with promises. “I can try.”
“I’m with a man. Ethan. Tall kid with a nice face.” Hunter tucked the cigarette between his lips. “I don’t know if you’d ever talk to him, but on the off chance… don’t let him know how we met. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t deserve him. It would probably kill him to know who I am.”
“Of course,” Ryan said. It was the second promise of his life, but it was a hell of a lot easier than the first.
Flicking open his Zippo, sparking the flame, Ryan asked a final question. “The day after Sarah came to the prison for the last time—right after The Chief died—there was a fire in the woodshop. They said it had killed you, yet here you are.”
Hunter lit up. “That was the deal. Remember the Aryan Brotherhood asshole, the one who hung himself in solitary?”
“That was you?”
“Light work. He was cutting into the warden’s side business. Office politics.” Hunter spat. “She got me out when I did the deed. Smuggled me onto a laundry truck with all the confusion in the fire. Feels weird, honestly—on paper, I’ve been dead six weeks.”
“I don’t think anything could kill you, son.”
