into the livingroom and sat in an easy chair in the corner and looked out at the street。
after a while he rose and crossed the room and went up the stairs。 he stood listening at the head of the stairwell。 when he entered the old womans room he could smell the sweet musty odor of sickness and he thought for a moment she might even be lying there in the bed。 he switched on the flashlight and went into the bathroom。 he stood reading the labels of the pharmacy bottles on the vanity。 he looked out the window at the street below； the dull winter light from the streetlamps。 two in the morning。 dry。
cold。 silent。 he went out and down the hallway to the small bedroom at the rear of the house。
he emptied her bureau drawers out onto the bed and sat sorting through her things； holding up from time to time some item and studying it in the bluish light from the yardlamp。 a plastic hairbrush。 a cheap fairground bracelet。 weighing these things in his hand like a medium who might thereby divine some fact concerning the owner。 he sat turning the pages in a photo album。 school friends。 family。 a dog。 a house not this one。 a man who may have been her father。 he put two pictures of her in his shirtpocket。
there was a ceiling fan overhead。 he got up and pulled the chain and lay down on the bed with the shotgun alongside him； watching the wooden blades wheel slowly in the light from the window。 after a while he got up and took the chair from the desk in the corner and tilted it and pushed the top backladder up under the doorknob。 then he sat on the bed and pulled off his boots and stretched out and went to sleep。
in the morning he walked through the house again upstairs and down and then returned to the bathroom at the end of the hall to shower。 he left the curtain pulled back； the water spraying onto the floor。 the hallway door open and the shotgun lying on the vanity a foot away。
he dried the dressing on his leg with a hairdryer and shaved and dressed and went down to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal and milk； walking through the house as he ate。 in the livingroom he stopped and looked at the mail lying in the floor beneath the brass slot in the front door。 he stood there； chewing slowly。 then he set bowl and spoon on the coffeetable and crossed the room and bent over and picked up the mail and stood sorting through it。 he sat in a chair by the door and opened the phone bill and cupped the envelope and blew into it。
he glanced down the list of calls。 halfway down was the terrell county sheriffs department。 he folded the bill and put it back in the envelope and put the envelope in his shirt…pocket。 then he looked through the other pieces of mail again。 he rose and went into the kitchen and got the shotgun off the table and came back and stood where hed stood before。 he crossed to a cheap mahogany desk and opened the top drawer。
the drawer was stuffed with mail。 he laid the shotgun down and sat in the chair and pulled the mail out and piled it on the desk and began to go through it。
moss spent the day in a cheap motel on the edge of town sleeping naked in the bed with his new clothes on wire hangers in the closet。 when he woke the shadows were long in the motel courtyard and he struggled up and sat on the edge of the bed。 a pale bloodstain the size of his hand on the sheets。 there was a paper bag on the night table that held things hed bought from a drugstore in town and he picked it up and limped into the bathroom。 he showered and shaved and brushed his teeth for the first time in five days and then sat on the edge of the tub and taped fresh gauze over his wounds。
then he got dressed and called a cab。
he was standing in front of the motel office when the cab pulled up。 he climbed into the rear seat； got his breath； then reached and shut the door。 he regarded the face of the driver in the rearview mirror。 do you want to make some money？ he said。
yeah。 i want to make some money。
moss took five of the hundreds and tore them in two and passed one half across the back of the seat to the driver。 the driver counted the torn bills and put them in his shirtpocket and looked at moss in the mirror and waited。
whats your name？
paul； said the driver。
you got the right attitude； paul。 i wont get you in trouble。 i just dont want you to leave me somewheres that i dont want to be left。
all right。
have you got a flashlight？
yeah。 i got a flashlight。
let me have it。
the driver passed the flashlight to the back。
youre the man； moss said。
where are we going。
down the river road。
i aint pickin nobody up。
were not pickin anybody up。
the driver watched him in the mirror。 no drogas； he said。
no drogas。
the driver waited。
im goin to pick up a briefcase。 it belongs to me。 you can look inside if you want。
nothin illegal。
i can look inside。
yes you can。
i hope youre not jerkin me around。
no。
i like money but i like stayin out of jail even better。
im the same way myself； moss said。
they drove slowly up the road toward the bridge。 moss leaned forward over the seat。 i want you to park under the bridge； he said。
all right。
im goin to unscrew the bulb out of this domelight。
they watch this road round the clock； the driver said。
i know that。
the driver pulled off of the road and shut off the engine and the lights and looked at moss in the mirror。 moss took the bulb from the light and laid it in the plastic lens and handed it across the seat to the driver and opened the door。 i should be back in just a few minutes； he said。
the cane was dusty； the stalks close grown。 he pushed his way through carefully； holding the light at his knees with his hand partly across the lens。
the case was sitting in the brake rightside up and intact as if someone had simply set it there。 he switched off the light and picked it up and made his way back in the dark； taking his sight by the span of the bridge overhead。 when he got to the cab he opened the door and set the case in the seat and got in carefully and shut the door。 he handed the flashlight to the driver and leaned back in the seat。 lets go； he said。
whats in there； the driver said。
money。
money？
money。
the driver started the engine and pulled out onto the road。
turn the lights on； moss said。
he turned the lights on。
how much money？
a lot of money。 what will you take to drive me to san antonio。
the driver thought about it。 you mean on top of the five hundred。
yes。
how about a grand all in。
everthing。
yes。
you got it。
the driver nodded。 then how about the other half of these five caesars i already got。
moss took the bills from his pocket and handed them across the back of the seat。
what if the migra stop us。
they wont stop us； moss said。
how do you know？
theres too much shit still down the road that i got to deal with。 it aint goin to end here。
i hope youre right。
trust me； moss said。
i hate hearin them words； the driver said。 i always did。
have you ever said them？
yeah。 ive said em。 thats how e i know what theyre worth。
he spent the night in a rodeway inn on highway 90 just west of town and in the morning he went down and got a paper and climbed laboriously back to his room。 he couldnt buy a gun from a dealer because he had no identification but he could buy one out of the paper and he did。 a tec…9 with two extra magazines and a box and a half of shells。 the man delivered the gun to his door and he paid him in cash。 he turned the piece in his hand。 it had a greenish parkerized finish。 semiautomatic。 when was the last time you fired it？ he said。
i aint never fired it。
are you sure it fires？
why would it not？
i dont know。
well i dont either。
after he left moss walked out onto the prairie behind the motel with one of the motel pillows under his arm and he wrapped the pillow about the muzzle of the gun and fired off three rounds and then stood there in the cold sunlight watching the feathers drift across the gray chaparral； thinking about his life； what was past and what was to e。
then he turned and walked slowly back to the motel leaving the burnt pillow on the ground。
he rested in the lobby and then climbed up to the room again。 he bathed in the tub and looked at the exit hole in his lower back in the bathroom mirror。 it looked pretty ugly。
there were drains in both holes that he wanted to pull out but he didnt。 he pulled loose the plaster on his arm and looked at the deep furrow the bullet had cut there and then taped the dressing back again。 he dressed and put some more of the bills into the back pocket of his jeans and he fitted the pistol and the magazines into the case and closed it and called a cab and picked up the document case and went out and down the stairs。
he bought a 1978 ford pickup with four wheel drive and a 460 engine from a lot on north broadway and paid the man in cash and got the title notarized in the office and put the title in the glovebox and drove away。 he drove back to the motel and checked out and left； the tec…9 under the seat and the document case and his bag of clothes sitting in the floor on the passenger side of th