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might want to give everything a wide berth.”
    “But they’ll know I’m me and not you.”
    “Yes. But I wouldn’t really rely on that as a firm safety measure.”
    “What have you been up to?”
    “That’s for me to be worrying about.”
    “Illegal stuff?”
    “No. But it’s still worth keeping out of.”
    “I gotta move all my stuff out?”
    Marshall said, “No. Just yourself.”
    “Ah, shit. How likely is it someone’s going to come poking round?”
    Marshall pondered that, likelihoods always tough to firmly quantify. He said, “I don’t know. But even if it’s a slim chance I’d say it’s well worth avoiding.”
    Which he felt was good advice, given that in his experience it was the slim chances that made things all the worse.
    “Man. Look. Thing is, I got some stuff round here that I probably shouldn’t leave where people can see. Like, if people are coming by I mean.”
    Marshall let a quiet settle, like giving the admission a bit of gravity. In his right hand his last remaining quarter. He flipped it and caught it a couple of times, like heads or tails would dictate what he said. “What sort of things?”
    “I’m just holding on to some stuff for a friend.”
    “A friend.”
    “Yeah. Well. You know. Some of it may or may not be stolen. I don’t know.”
    Marshall felt his cell ringing in his pocket. That blocked number a fairly safe bet. He let it go to voice mail. He said, “These aren’t the sorts of people who are going to worry if you’ve got a few extra DVD players lying round.”
    “Yeah. It’s not really DVD players.”
    “Whatever. Look. You need to be operating on the basis you’re going to have visitors fairly shortly.”
    “How shortly?”
    “Like, pack a bag, but if it takes longer than thirty minutes I’d hightail without it.”
    “Shit. Sounds like you got some trouble.”
    Marshall said, “Trouble’s selling it short. Thirty minutes.”
    He hung up the phone. The console on its short pole with its shadow laid neatly slantwise and beside it his own, hugely stretched. He went into the office and got change for his two remaining singles and walked outside to the Corolla and popped the trunk. What a sight: the duffel with his fake samples, the 870 laid next to it. He removed Rojas’s .38 from his belt and dropped it on the bag. His hand came away grimed when he closed the lid. He dusted it on his thigh and walked back to the pay phone and dialed the U.S. Marshal’s office at the district courthouse in Santa Fe. Cohen wasn’t in yet, so Marshall asked to be put through to his cell.
    When he picked up Marshall said, “It’s me.”
    “Why are you so hard to get ahold of?”
    Marshall said, “I’m out and about.”
    “Right. I guess that’s your full-time occupation or something, don’t think I’ve ever caught you at home.”
    Marshall didn’t answer.
    “Where you callin’ from? It’s a funny-lookin’ number.”
    “I’m at a pay phone.”
    “Anyone listening?”
    “I don’t think so. But you’re the government, you tell me.”
    Cohen paused and said, “Whenever I try the house it’s that Felix feller who answers.”
    “He’s my tenant.”
    “Right. I think the idea when the feds give you a house is that you actually live in it. Generally safest, as far as staying alive goes.”
    Marshall said, “I can look after myself.”
    “Someone’s last words, I’m sure.”
    Marshall didn’t answer.
    Cohen said, “I think you and I need to sit down together. Sooner rather than later would be best. I’ve got time this morning.”
    Marshall leaned on the phone box, taking his time so he’d sound patient. He said, “Or you could just leave me alone.”
    Cohen laughed. “It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. We need to sit down.”
    Some real firmness in that last bit. His cell phone started ringing. Blocked number. He could guess the gist of the message: You’re a dead man.
    Marshall said, “Let me call you back.”

 
    FOUR
    Wayne