Free Whirlwind by Charles Grant Page B

People down the river without an ounce of guilt. Not him. He had plans.
    They thought he was beaten. They thought his time away would change him.
    He drank, not sipped.
    It had.
    It had changed him.
    It had made him worse.
    Just before eleven the man came in, spotted him right away, and dropped heavily into the booth.
    Ciola tugged on the beak on his cap, a greeting and an adjustment. “You’re late.”
    â€œShit truck wouldn’t start. Wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t make the effort.”
    Ciola watched him, hiding his distaste by emptying the bottle and waving it over his head, so the waitress, such as she was, would bring him another.
    The other man didn’t ask for one, and one wasn’t offered.
    â€œSo?” Leon said.
    The man lifted one shoulder. “So they brought in some FBI, straight from Washington. They came in this morning. One man, one woman.”
    Ciola coughed a laugh. “You’re kidding.”
    â€œThey’re supposed to be experts.”
    â€œA woman?”
    The man nodded, and offered a lopsided grin. “Gets better. They’re Anglos.”
    The empty bottle was taken away, a full one left in its place. The man grabbed it before Ciola did, took a long swallow, and set it down. His fingers stayed around the neck. “Am I worried?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood.” The man stood and hitched up his pants. “I hate being worried. It always pisses me off.”
    He left without a word to anyone else.
    The bartender turned up the baseball game.
    Ciola wiped the bottle’s mouth with his palm and drank the rest without coming up for air.
    When the waitress returned for the empty, he grabbed her wrist, just strongly enough to keep her bent over the table. “ Chica ,” he said softly, “what are you doing tonight?”
    â€œGetting a life,” she answered, yanking her arm free. “Try it sometime.”
    He laughed. Not a sound, but he tilted his head back and laughed. Wonderful! She was wonderful! He wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head. Since she didn’t want him, he would leave her the biggest tip she had ever had in her miserable life.
    And to make it better, he wouldn’t even kill her.
    Â 
    Scully massaged the back of her neck. It was hard to keep her eyes open, and she didn’t bother to hide a yawn.
    â€œThe desert night air,” Mulder said. “It’s almost too peaceful here.”
    â€œI know.” She dropped her hand into her lap. “The point is, Mulder, we haven’t enough data yet to show us why they were killed, much less explain the connections in any reasonable fashion. And I don’t think we’re going to find them out here. Not tonight, anyway.” She smiled wanly. “I think I’m a little too punchy.”
    â€œWe both are.” He stretched one arm at a time over his head, clasped his hands, and pushed his palms toward the sky. “I just wish I could see the connections between a handful of cows, a kid by the river, and a couple in the desert.” He brought his arms down, one hand again moving to his nape.
    â€œMulder, relax, we just got here, remember? Besides, you have to remember that the thinner air out here slows down the intellectual process, the result of less oxygen flowing to the brain.”
    He grinned and looked at her sideways. “Is that a doctor thing?”
    â€œNo, that’s a Scully thing.” She grinned and pushed off the bench and held out her hand. When he grabbed it, she pulled him up, turned him around, pushing him lightly toward the motel. “The doctor thing is, get some sleep, like Red said, or you’ll be useless in the morning.”
    He nodded as he waved a weary good night over his shoulder, sidestepping a garden wall just before he tripped over it. Another wave— I’mokay, I know what I’m doing— before he disappeared into the passageway, and she couldn’t help wondering