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waiting. She was standing on the concrete island beside the pumps.
    “You cleaned up that salt real quick, Jolene.” He tried to say ‘Jolene’
    the way the woman had said it.
    “I didn’t clean it up.”
    “Then I bet you’re gonna get your ass whipped.”
    “She ain’t the boss of me.”
    “No. I could see that for sure.”
    She walked to the road and fell in beside him. “Listen. I’ve got over two hundred dollars I can let you have if you’re interested.”
    He stopped walking then. “I’m interested.”
    “But you’ve got to take me with you. Take me to Las Vegas.”
    “Like hell. They’d get me for kidnapping.”
    “I’m no kid. I’m nineteen.”
    “And I’m Elvis.”
    “Well, I’m older than I look.”
    “What do you mean, take you with me?”
    “Let me come with you, help you in Las Vegas.”
    “Help me with what?”
    “With your equipment. Instruments and stuff. I’m strong. I can lift. Speakers . . . amplifiers. Hell, I can move a piano all by myself.”
    She picked at her shirt as she talked. Willy Jack had the feeling she was about to push up her sleeves and show him her muscles. He knew if she did, he’d laugh and give it all away.
    “What are you smiling about?” she asked.
    “About how nice it would be to have someone with me. Someone to take care of my costumes . . . sew on sequins, buttons, stuff like that.”
    “Yeah, and I can run errands, take your phone calls—anything.”
    “Okay. Let’s do it.”
    She smiled then, a smile that crinkled up her eyes and pulled her lips back tight against her teeth—and he saw again that empty space at the front of her mouth.
    “Let’s go,” he said.
    “Well, I can’t go right now.”
    “Why not?”
    “I’ve got to get my money. Some clothes. Take care of a couple of things.”
    “Well, when can you go?”
    “Tonight.”
    “Tonight? What the hell am I supposed to do all day? Stand out here in the sun and jerk off?”
    “I don’t know. Go to the park. Look around. Just go somewhere.
    Then I’ll meet you at the high school.”
    “Where the hell’s the high school?”
    “Right in the middle of town. You’ll see it. There ain’t that much town.”
    She waited for some sign of approval from him, but Willy Jack crammed his hands in his pockets and stared past her.
    “Okay?” she asked.
    “I don’t seem to have much choice, do I?”
    “Now where’s your car?”
    “On the highway. ’Bout three miles east of here.”
    “What are you driving?”
    “Seventy-two Plymouth. Why?”
    “Give me the keys.” She held out her hand, trying to act certain she could pull this off.
    “The hell I will.”
    “Look. I can get a ride out there . . . take a can of gas. Then I drive it in, fill it up, oil, the works. I pick you up at eight. We’re outta here.”
    “Naw.” He shook his head. “I ain’t gonna hand my keys over to—”
    “You think I’m gonna steal a ’72 Plymouth? Shit. Let’s forget it.”
    She turned around and started back down the road. “Just forget the whole thing.”
    “Okay,” Willy Jack yelled. “Let’s do it.”
    But the girl kept walking away from him. He hurried to catch up with her, then dangled the keys in front of her nose.
    “I said, let’s do it.” His voice had a harder edge to it then.
    She plucked the keys out of his hand without missing a step.
    “Eight,” she said—and then she was gone.
    Willy Jack was at the school by seven, hoping the girl might get there early. He’d had all he wanted of Santa Rosa, New Mexico, by then. He had spent an hour at the pool hall watching two fat men play pool like they were spearing fish. When he finally got in the game, he let them win his change so he could sucker them in for a few bucks, but they quit then and left with his money.
    In the drugstore, he’d jimmied a gum ball machine for enough 4 nickels to buy a Pepsi and a Slow Poke. After that, he had gone to a cafe called Peaches where he drank water and watched cartoons on a