'Do you have Twinkies or moon pies?' she asked the clerk.

The clerk laughed. 'A Twinkie? No. They stopped making them.'

'What? When?'

'Hostess went under a year ago.'

'It wasn't on Twitter. OMG. What about s...o...b..a.l.l.s?'

The clerk shook her head. 'Sorry.'

'I thought this is a grocery store.'

'It's an organic grocery store. Means natural foods. There's nothing natural in a Twinkie or a s...o...b..ll.'

The clerk turned to the cash register; Nadine made a face at her. Book paid, and they stepped outside and to the Harley. Agent Acosta drove off in a late-model convertible. He waved, and Book waved back. Nadine dug into the potato chips; he ate a protein bar.

'I know what the connection is,' his intern said, 'between Nathan, his death, the art, fracking, and Billy Bob.'

'What?'

'Not what. Who.'

'Okay. Who?'

'That Carla girl.'

'Why?'

'She's in the middle of every conflict in Marfa.'

'She's an environmentalist. That's what they do.'

'There's something more.'

'What?'

'I don't know that. But we didn't have this much conflict in San Francisco, and people there fight over everything. Difference is, people there like h.o.m.os.e.xuals.'

Nadine pointed at the old adobes across the intersection. On one wall graffiti had been painted: f.u.c.k U Chin.a.z.is.

'That's what we call the h.o.m.os.e.xuals,' Jimmy John said. 'The artists. 'Cause of that Chinati deal out there.'

Book and Nadine had ridden over to Nathan Jones's house to meet Brenda. Jimmy John Dale was already there and drinking a beer. Or finishing off a six-pack.

'The Chinati Foundation at the fort? Where Judd's boxes are exhibited?'

'Yeah. At first we called the whole bunch of 'em "Chinatis." Then they took over Marfa, started running the place like they owned it, trying to turn it into another New York City, so we started calling them "Chin.a.z.is." h.e.l.l, even the Mexicans hate 'em. First time in the history of Marfa, Anglos and Mexicans are on the same side fighting the same enemy. The h.o.m.os.e.xuals, they brought us together.'

'Why?'

'They've run up the real-estate prices, locals can't afford homes no more, they got their high-dollar restaurants we can't afford, they got their organic grocery store we can't afford, and now they're starting their own private school we can't afford. They look down their noses at us locals, figure we're all dumb-a.s.ses lucky to find our way home at night-h.e.l.l, least we're not a buncha G.o.dd.a.m.n queers!'

'Jimmy John!'

Brenda Jones gave him a stern look. His expression eased.

'Sorry.'

'That the friction the mayor mentioned?' Book asked.

Jimmy John laughed. 'Friction? That's funny. More like open warfare, Professor.'

'Over gays in town who pay too much to eat out?'

Jimmy John drank his beer.

'Aw, h.e.l.l, that stuff just graveled us. But when they started protesting the fracking, they crossed the line with the locals. They're spending a couple hundred bucks to eat French food, but they're happy for us to starve. They come down here and take over our town, now they want to take our jobs. They don't understand, Professor-fracking gave us jobs, and we ain't giving 'em up just 'cause they're worried about a little pollution.'

'Has there been any violence?'

Jimmy John snorted. 'We ain't worried about a buncha queers beating us up, Professor.'

'Against the artists?'

'Oh. Not yet. But they keep it up, they're gonna understand why not many folks live in this desert. It can be a hard life.'

'Do you know Carla Kent?'

'Everyone knows Carla. She come down here from Santa Fe, organized the artists to protest the fracking, then they got stories in the New York papers about fracking-they hate it up there. She's a good-looking gal, so the boys are what you call conflicted about her.'

'How?'

'They don't know what they want to do most, screw her or beat the h.e.l.l outta her.'

Jimmy John grinned. Book didn't.

'Reminds me. Thanks for the help at Padre's the other night.'

'Didn't figure you needed any, not with Babe Ruth watching your back.'

'I hit him hard, didn't I?' Nadine said.

'Real hard. You're pretty good with a beer bottle.'

Jimmy John abruptly grimaced as if a bullet had just bored through his brain.

'Are the headaches getting worse?' Book asked.

'Yeah.'

'How are the nosebleeds?'

'Regular.'

'Better see a doctor.'

He turned to Brenda Jones. She sat in her chair; her belly looked as if it might explode. Her expression said it felt that way.

'Nathan was murdered,' he said.

Brenda Jones regarded Book from across the coffee table.

'What are you going to do about it, Professor?'

Book saw in her eyes the desperation of a young woman, pregnant with her first child, whose husband had been taken from her.

'I'm going to find Nathan's truth. Give him justice.'

Brenda pushed herself out of the chair; Jimmy John helped her up. She came to Book; he stood. She hugged him.

'Thank you, Professor. But be careful. They follow us. They know everything. Where we go. What we do. Who we see. Who we talk to. They're always watching.'

Book blew out a breath. This sad young woman needed more help than a law professor could provide. But finding the truth, bringing her husband's killer to justice, that he could do. That he would do. He took her by the shoulders.

'Brenda, listen, I'm going to find out who killed Nathan, I promise you. But you need to stay strong. Mentally strong. Getting paranoid about things, thinking people are following you, watching you, that won't help you. Or your health. Or your baby. Okay?'

The phone rang. Brenda put one hand on the side of her belly as if to hold it in place then walked over to the landline hung on the kitchen wall. She answered. After a moment, she held the phone out to Book.

'It's for you.'

Chapter 24.

There was no traffic on Highway 67 north, the road to Midland. Tom Dunn had called Book at Nathan's house and said he had important information that could not wait until tomorrow. So Book and Nadine were riding the Harley to Midland late in the day.

But how did Tom Dunn know that Book was at Nathan's house?

Book glanced in the rearview. A black pickup truck followed behind them a distance. As it had since they had left Marfa. As it still did when they hit Interstate 20 an hour later. The truck exited the highway behind them when they arrived in Midland. Book beat them through a red light and cut around the west side of downtown. He found a spot a block down from the Dunn Building and waited.

'What are we doing?' Nadine asked.

'Waiting.'

'For what?'

'For them.'

The black pickup truck parked in front of the Dunn Building. The two men inside did not get out.

'Stay here.'

Book got off the Harley and walked up to the pickup. He stayed out of their mirror angle-there was an Aggie sticker on the rear b.u.mper-then he went around to the driver's side. The window was down.

'Are you following us?'

The man jumped-'s.h.i.t!'-then quickly gathered himself when he saw Book. 'It's a free country.'

Both of the men were shaved bald in the fashion of pro athletes, and both were large enough to have played pro football.

'A week in the hospital isn't. Free.'

'You threatening us?'

'Yes. Don't follow us anymore. And tell Billy Bob I know he killed Nathan Jones. Tell him I'm coming for him.'

'You'll have to come through us.'

'I'd enjoy that.'

The man snorted. 'f.u.c.kin' kung fu Injun ... that s.h.i.t don't scare me, Professor.'

'Taekwondo. And I'm part Comanche. You know, the Comanche once roamed this land on horseback-'

'What, and you roam it on a Harley?'

He laughed and shared a fist-b.u.mp with his buddy.

'Where's your bow and arrow, Sacagawea?' the buddy said.

'Sack a s.h.i.t,' the driver said.

They again laughed. They clearly weren't history buffs, so Book stuck his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out his pearl-handled pocketknife.

'I don't have a bow and arrow. All I've got is this little knife.'

He opened the blade and stepped to the rear of the truck. He leaned down and jammed the blade into the tire.

'And you've got a flat tire.'

Book turned away and saw Nadine standing there.