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Springs."
    "Jesus.   That explains the gold-toed boots."
    "People of the Hispanic persuasion say a man like this has the suerte .   Luck, good fortune."
    "That's what people of the Anglo persuasion say, too."
    Jack stood.   "You going to do anything, you going to sit here all night?"
    "Why don't you ask.   Give me the courtesy of that."
    "Okay.   You think maybe I could use the car?"
    "There is very little gas. I will hold you responsible, you run out and leave it somewhere."
    "I wouldn't do that."
    "Good.   Because you have done this several times before."
    "You people are a very suspicious race."
    "I wonder where the fock we learn that?"
     
    I t had to be well after four, closer to five.   Clouds had swept in while he and Ortega talked.   The stars had disappeared, and lightning flared off to the west.   It wouldn't likely rain this time of the year, but anything could happen, even a wonder such as that.
    Ortega kept his car beneath a live oak tree back of Wan's.   The oak was a thick-boled giant that had managed, somehow, to avoid the lumber yard and the ravages of time.   The tree was four hundred years old.   Ortega's car was an '89 Plymouth, not nearly as sound as the tree.
    The car smelled of garlic, beer and cigarettes.   Hershey bars and sweat.   The back seat was high with Budweiser cans.   The front was an avalanche of Pacific Otter and Nature Magazine.   The covers pictured happy seals, and ugly manatees.
    Jack drove far enough to see down the street.   Far enough to see the front of Piggs, close enough to Wan's to stay in the cover of the trees.   He thought about the secret that he'd found.   A big empty room, a passage underground.   He decided it must have been part of the seafood place that was there before Piggs. The only thing was, it seemed awful big for that.   A hell of a cellar for a country restaurant.
    Which didn't really have much to do with what might happen in the morning, which wasn't that far away now, an hour and a half.   Wednesday was not his best day.   The shit had hit the fan in Dallas on a Wednesday afternoon.   They'd found him guilty–what else?–on a Wednesday, and bused him to Huntsville the Wednesday after that.
    The best thing to do, Jack decided, was not even think about what might happen with Cecil or the Cat.   The best thing to do was not wait around and find out.   Take Ortega's car, drive it till it dropped.   Catch a bus, haul ass completely out of state. Any state would be fine.   As long as it wasn't Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, Kansas or Arkansas.
    The only thing was, he knew he couldn't run.   He couldn't go no matter what they did.   He could have before, but he couldn't do it now.   Now, he had something going in his life, something worthwhile.   He couldn't take off and leave Gloria behind.   He would never, ever in his life, meet another woman like that.
     
    T he parking lot was empty and that was fine with Jack.   That meant Cecil had already left, along with Grape and Cat.   Most of the girls didn't bring a car to work.   Weirdos tended to hang around the lot.   A guy or another girl would pick the girls up.   Phylla's niece came and got her every night.   They went by Gloria's place and dropped her off.
    Jack didn't think she'd be upset.   She wasn't like that. She'd told him no, but they could get around that.   Go get some pie.   Just ride around and talk.   That's what he wanted anyway. Just to be with her, have some time to talk.
    Someone picked up Minnie.   Maggie pulled out in her car.
    A Chevy stopped for Laura Licks.
    Jack was concerned, but not much.   Gloria always took her time.   Getting to work and going back.   Getting in her costume, taking it off again.
    She might be late, but what she was not–and he wondered why it had even crossed his mind–what she was not, was out with that wetback fucking millionaire.   She wasn't doing that.   Chavez could buy a whole store full of cheapass flowers, she