Page 13 of Devil's Marker

“You Win?”

Win had to smile at the question. He wanted to say something like, “Always”, but said, “Yes,” instead.

“I’m Zach. Been lookin’ for you.” He pointed toward the barn. “Pull this piece of shit into the barn over there. Somebody’ll close the doors so it can’t be seen. Come on over to the house and get somethin’ to eat. I’ll meet you there.”

Win nodded and restarted the truck.

A smiling Hispanic guy with a proudly beat up hat appeared when Win reached the barn, and showed him where to park. As Zach had said, the guy closed the doors as soon as Win cut the engine.

It took less than five minutes to walk to the main house. It was exactly what had originally been meant by ‘ranch style’. One story with six thousand or so square feet sitting low and wide. The exterior was tan stucco that matched the environment.

Win had never cared for desert landscapes, but he could see that it was a well-kept place with an impressive stand of windmills in the distance where the land rose and an even more impressive field of solar panels near the compound.

He raised his hand to knock on the outer screen door, but the inner door opened before he made contact. A middle-aged Hispanic woman grinned as she stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

He heard Zach’s voice from somewhere in the rear of the house.

He left the entry and turned down a narrower hall that ended in an open concept kitchen den that was enormous, new, and adorned in a tasteful combination of chic southwest and antique western artifacts and collectibles suitable for an Architectural Digest photo spread.

Zach, the picture of a weather-beaten cowboy, was busy chopping something in the kitchen. He looked to be in his early fifties, but it was hard to tell. He’d spent a lot of time out in the sun. He had deep laugh lines, a trim figure, and a voice gruff enough to be a bridge troll. It would have been off putting if not for a semi-permanent amused look in the pale blue eyes of a Scot descendant.

“You do this yourself?” Win waved at the air as shorthand for, “Did you do the decorating?”

Zach stopped chopping long enough to turn that amusement Win’s way. “In the sense that I collected most of that old shit. Makin’ it look good? That’s all Jen. My wife. She’s not here. Gone to book club or some such nonsense.”

The back of the house featured large solar windows that looked out onto a pool. The sparkling reflection of sunlight on water was a curious juxtaposition given the surroundings. A smaller house in the same style backed up to one end of the pool, presumably so that guests had access.

“You got a well?” Win asked.

“Yep. Artesian. You could drink that water if we didn’t put so much chlorine in it.” He chuckled. “Sit down there.” He motioned to the bar stool at the end of a long island counter with a long neck beer bottle. “Beer.”

“Sure.”

Zach handed him a beer. “Hope you like chicken salad ‘cause that’s what’s on the menu today. Not a short order kitchen.”

Win smiled. “Uh, yeah.”

“What’s so funny?”

“No offense. I just don’t get an offer of chicken salad very often.”

Zach harrumphed. “You should. Gotta watch your girlish figure,” he said as he set a plate in front of Win. Two large scoops of chicken salad, with pecans, and quarters of roma tomatoes on a spring mix of leafy greens. It was pretty enough to be the pièce de résistance at a woman’s club luncheon.

“Thank you,” Win said. “This is beautiful.”

Zach sat down across from Win and took a pull on his beer. “Much as I’d like to spend the afternoon shootin’ the breeze, I gotta go back to work after lunch. You can stay in the guest house. It’s got a fully stocked kitchen and a big screen TV. We get investors occasionally. Gotta put on our best face.

“Tomorrow mornin’ the truck will be gone. Your bike will be in the barn, ready to go. I suggest that you be headed east by sunrise.”

Win nodded. “Yeah. It’s a good plan. Thanks for puttin’ me up.”

Zach barked out a laugh. “Not much I wouldn’t do for Brant Fornight. We go back a long way.”

“I don’t know him well. Yet. I’m new to his, um, organization.”

Zach smiled while chewing. “Club.”

“Yeah. Club. You ride?”

---