Free Bear and His Daughter by Robert Stone

fury.
    Fletch gathered up his thermos and prepared to alight. He was trembling.
    “
Cacahuetes,
” sang the peanut vendor.
    Without warning, Fencer rammed into gear. Fletch saw the market fall away in a spray of peanuts as he flew into the back seat.
    “
Gringo!
” the stricken peanut man called after them. “
Gringo!
”
    Fletch floundered in the seat. His trousers were soaked in Coke and alcohol.
    “Take it easy, Fletch,” Fencer said earnestly. “Show him, Willie.”
    “Don’t panic, Fletch,” Willie said. “But the Sinister Pancho Pillow was just pulling up behind us.” He pointed tensely through the rear window.
    About thirty yards behind them was a new Lincoln with California plates. The driver; barely visible, was a fat, dark-skinned man who wore a goatee and dark glasses. A girl in a straw hat sat beside him, and there was a third person in the back.
    Fletch stared at them.
    “Well there it is, Fletch,” Fencer said. “You panicked. You balked. And you nearly set us up for Sinister Pancho Pillow.”
    “And his woman, La Beatriz,” Willie Wings said.
    “And La Beatriz. And Pancho’s Odd Buddy.” Fencer whistled through his teeth. “Don’t that show you somethin’ about how the world is set up, Fletch? There you were, acting like me and Willie Wings was a menace, and in the next fuckin’ instant Sinister Pancho Pillow makes the scene.”
    Fletch thought of prayer. He addressed a prayer to his perception, which he felt was in danger of obliteration, together with its frail equipage. He beseeched his perception to overcome panic and confusion.
    “I have nothing to fear from Pancho Pillow,” he told them. “What do I care if he pulls up behind us?”
    “Let us not leave those evils which we got,” Willie Wings said, “and flee to others which we know not of.”
    Fencer nodded vigorously. “That’s a relevant quote, Fletch. Hey, man, are they still behind us?”
    “They turned off,” Fletch said. “They’re going back to the coast.”
    “That’s a feint,” Fencer said. “They’re gonna stay out there behind us somewhere.”
    The sloping plains they drove through were bare, although patches of cypress forest rose in the barrancas below them.
    They were above Corbera now. Ahead the road ran quite literally to the clouds.
    Fencer was rolling a joint while driving. He was one of the few people in Mexico who could do so. Fletch watched him jab the lighted end toward Willie with an impatient gesture. That, Fletch thought, must be why they called him Fencer.
    Fletch had resolved to turn on in order to buy time. If he accepted the new joint, it seemed to him that he would not get very much higher than he was. Moreover the forms of order would be maintained, perception stimulated and panic postponed.
    Fencer became philosophical. “Paranoids make their own hell,” he told Fletch. “Here you were with just me and Willie and all aggressive and paranoid. Next thing—wham—it’s Sinister Pancho Pillow time. Don’t that make you think?”
    “What’s the matter with Pancho Pillow?” Fletch asked. “I mean, compared with you and Willie Wings?”
    “Nothin’ wrong with Pancho for the average person,” Willie said. “Plenty wrong for you though, Fletch—you better believe it. Because we’re with you down deep, Fletch. But Sinister Pancho Pillow ain’t with no one and he’d eat you up.”
    “Why?” Fletch asked.
    “Why?” Willie Wings sighed. “Because you’re his favorite flavor.”
    Fletch affected to laugh.
    “Oh now this is really a lot of shit,” he said.
    Willie looked at him kindly.
    “That really is a lot of shit,” Fletch told them. “It’s utter jive. You’re crazy with speed, all of you.”
    “I’m afraid Willie’s right, Fletch,” Fencer said. “But we’re all in the same bag, children, because Sinister Pancho Pillow has hunger and thirst for all of us.”
    “Not for me,” Willie Wings said. He rattled the parrot’s cage, making the bird