"No. It's coming up here pretty soon."

"You got any plans?"

"I do now," Mike said. "You like pizza? The pizza place here in the mall is really good."

"Who doesn't like pizza?"

2.

The table was uneven and wobbled a bit as Mike attacked his slice of pizza with a plastic knife and fork. Dempster preferred the traditional way of using his hands.

"I remember," Mike said, "when we were kids and we used to make our own little pizzas. Remember that?"

"Cheese, pepperoni, and tomato sauce on an English muffin," Dempster said. "Bite-sized pizzas before there were bite-sized pizzas."

"I think it was some Betty Crocker recipe."

"Probably. It sounds like a 1950s after-school snack."

Mike wiped his mouth and stared across the table at him. His eyes narrowed, then widened, and the sides of his mouth curved upward like a lazy crescent moon. "Seven years," he said. "Doesn't seem possible. Feels like I just saw you maybe a few weeks ago."

"Funny how time can do that, huh?"

"Has it really been that long?"

"You would know better than me. I was locked away for most of it, and avoiding getting locked away the rest of the time."

"I'm sorry," Mike said, then cut away at his pizza. "How was it in there, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Dull," Dempster said. "But I don't wanna talk about that. Let's just say that I made my bed and I slept in it, and now the alarm's gone off and I can get back to my life. Tell me about you."

"Not much to tell."

"Come on. Seven years living out here and you don't have a thing to tell me?"

"Honestly, no, not a whole lot. Angela and I moved out here in hopes of pursuing the artsa"to see if we could make a go at ita"and for the most part we've gotten to watch those hopes fall apart and crumble to dust."

"Angela told me she's got a show coming up in a couple months."

"Yeah, and it's practically the only thing to happen to either of us since we got here." He forked pizza into his mouth. "You're lucky you're not an artist, Demp. And if over the years, since I've last seen you, you've decided to become one, the only advice I could offer would be don't stick around Santa Fea"not if you want to have a chance of being even moderately successful."

"It's really like that here, huh?"

"Everyone in this town has their head so thoroughly shoved up their ass," Mike said. "Despite the reputation of this town, there's no market for the arts. I don't think anybody here even cares about art. It's just a bunch of trust-funders running around trying to act intellectual. The place pitches art and culture and turns its head away from just about all of it. 'Celebrate diversity' is one of the unwritten slogans here, but no one ever adds the reality that should be tagged onto that, which is 'as long as it's within these strict perimeters'. The diversity is very limited here. Alas, for such an open-minded place, it's totally narrow-minded."

"What about Angela's show?"

"Angela got into this show because of some friend of a friend of a friend, who slept with some guy or girl or whatever, who had a friend involved with the gallery." He shook his head. "I don't really know how it worked but it had nothing to do with anyone liking her work. It was a favor for a friend of a friend of a friend, and that friend didn't mind so long as they got laid, or something close to that."

"You've taken on a bitter side," Dempster said. "I'm not sure it suits you."

"I take what I can get. The bad as well as the good."

"What about your own work?"

"I've just about given up."

"Come on, you're one of the best painters I've ever met."

"And how many painters do you know?"

"Enough to know that you're a fool if you give it up. It's inside you and it's never gonna leave you alone, so why bother being anything else? You'll drive yourself mad if you quit."

"I still do it. I'll always do it, whether I want to or not. I've just lost interest in trying to get it out there, that's alla"at least for now."

"Well, you certainly make a good-looking book manager."

Mike laughed. "It's sure good to see you, Demp."

"Yeah, you too."

"How long are you planning on being around?"

"A week, maybe a little longer. It all depends on how I feel, I guess."

"It wouldn't depend on anything else, would it?"

Dempster leaned back. "What'd you mean?"

The first awkward silence of their reunion played out. It felt like an old-time record had just finished and the needle wasn't picking up.

Mike shook his head and went at his pizza. "Nothing," he said. "I'm sorry. Guess I'm just wondering what you're gonna do."

"You mean am I still gonna be a hoodlum?"

"I didn't say that."

"That's what you meant, though."

"Jack."

"Forget it, Mike. Don't worry about it. Right now I'm just vacationing. I'm here, and I don't know where I'll be next. Who knows what the future holds?"

More silence. This time it engulfed not only their table, but also the restaurant around them, and the mall around the restaurant, maybe even the city beyond.

Then Mike said, "We've been friends a long time, haven't we?"

"Just about our whole lives."

"Met in the first grade, is that right?"

"Yeah, that sounds right. First day of school you brought a garden spider in a small plastic cage. A few hours later it got out and climbed on you and you freaked out. Even when the teacher took the spider outside you still wouldn't go anywhere near that empty cage."

"I'm scared of spiders to this day," Mike said, and slid his plate away. "Can I ask you to be straight with me on something?"

"With you, I'm always straight."

Mike nodded, drew the plate back in front of him then slid it away again. "Are you really just in Santa Fe for a vacation?"

Dempster leveled his gaze at him. "What do you think?"

"I dunno, that's why I asked."

Popping the last bite of pizza into his mouth, Dempster chewed methodically, taking his time. When he swallowed he made a show of it, and when he spoke his tone was matter-of-fact. "Mike," he said, "I wanted to see the sights and see an old friend." He paused here and waited for Mike to believe him.

Eventually, he did.

"Now," Dempster said, "let's get the hell out of here."

"Yeah, all right. I need to get back to work."

They left the table and made their way back toward Essentials. The entire mall consisted of earthy tones. The floors were dark brown, the walls were tan, the ceiling was beige, and within the gigantic crystalline skylights hung what looked like enormous dream catchers. Everywhere were wooden benches, some of them occupied. There was no official food court, only a couple of restaurants here and there. De Vargas Mall wasn't so much a mall as it was a large building with some shops in it, most of them locally owned but selling stuff Dempster couldn't care less about.

"How long have you been working in this place?"

"About two years," Mike told him. "Before this I was doing graphic design work for this woman who turned out to be a psychopath. Was having some sort of mid-life crisis or something, and decided to take it all out on me. So I said sayonara and came here, partially because I wanted a change but also because the job market isn't very good. The few jobs that are available are run by people like the woman I worked for. Trust-funders who have nothing else to do, start some half-assed business, watch it flop, and don't really care. If they feel like it, they start another one."

"Sounds like you've got something against trust-funders."

"I do, and they're everywhere."

When they entered Essentials, Dempster wasn't sure, but it sounded like the same dance song he'd heard when he'd been in here over an hour ago. He followed Mike over to his little workstation, where he watched him clock in on the computer, then go into a cabinet beneath, from which he removed his green Essentials vest.

"Hey, how come you wear a vest and the kid I spoke to earlier had an apron on?"

"Managers wear vests," Mike told him.

"Classy." Dempster couldn't help snickering.

"Well," Mike said, slipping into his work attire, "back to work. What are you doing tonight?"

"I'm actually pretty tired," Dempster told him. "Probably just gonna get in bed and watch a movie."

"Oh yeah, I meant to ask, where are you staying?"

"Some hotel out that way." He gestured vaguely in some random direction.

"Do you have a phone number, or is there any way to contact you?"

"I'll call you," Dempster said. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Okay, sounds good." Mike extended his arms and when they embraced Dempster felt a genuine closeness that rated right up there with his first bourbon at Freddy Skeele's.

"Good to see you, Jerky."

"Good to see you, Perky. I'll call you tomorrow."

"All right."

Dempster turned away.

"Oh, Demp?"

Turning back he saw Mike looking him over.

"Welcome back...to the world, that is."

"Yeah, thanks." He turned away again, walked passed the magazine racks until he found himself on the outskirts of the video section. There was a part of him that wanted to wander through the isles, see all of the movies he'd missed over the past five years.

No, he decided, not right now. Get out of the store, leave Mike to his work. You can look around some other time. For now you should probably get back to the house and see what the guys are up to.

He looked toward the front entryway, and from the corner of his left eye he saw her, holding a small stack of movies and wearing a red, tight-fitted sweater that emphasized her curves, even under the green Essentials apron. As she walked, the sweep of her mid-cut skirt drew attention to her full calves, which tapered smoothly down to her ankles and clog-encased feet, while her red hair bounced upon her back like roses swaying in a breeze.

When a customer stopped her for help, she had a warm, bright smile, and a friendly, enthusiastic disposition. "Absolutely," she told the customer. "I'd be happy to, just follow me."

Dempster told himself to stop looking at her. Yet something about the sight of her brought about an impure feeling that excited him. He told himself again to stop looking, but his eyes kept focused on her as she glanced casually at him, then turned and disappeared down one of the aisles.

Chapter Six.

He didn't much like Doug Gardner. Right from the get-go the guy came off as an arrogant twit. He wore a tan Brooks Brothers suit with a dark blue tie that had been loosened around the neck, and he sat at the kitchen table with near perfect posture. Not more than twenty-eight or -nine, his hair had thinned out considerably, and what was left on top was shaggy, making his otherwise presentable appearance seem disheveled.

Flat on the table was an 11x17 layout of the Eldorado's ground floor. Evan and Clark sat on either side of Gardner, while Dempster and Jimmy stood across from them. They all peered down at Gardner's finger as it gave them an overhead tour.

"Directly on the right here," Gardner said, "just when you enter the lobby, is the front desk." His voice bordered on flamboyant. "To the desk's left here, these three little boxes are elevators."