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The next morning, Hunnicutt filed a formal request for a release to have his teeth fixed. He met the requirements. He was given a form that cited all the rules and restrictions of the furlough. He affixed his signature to the bottom, promising to uphold them. A few days later the warden granted him the temporary release.
In between trips to the dentist’s office, Hunnicutt and his wife kept the sheets hot at the Comfort Inn in Big Spring.
For slugging his fellow prisoner, Griff was reprimanded and his privileges were temporarily revoked.
When the car dealer returned, sparkling new caps well cemented, he’d sidled up to Griff and thanked him. “What the hell are you talking about?” Griff grumbled. “I just wanted you to put a lid on it.”
Knowing better, Hunnicutt said, “I owe you one. A big one.”
Griff hoped Hunnicutt remembered that IOU. He was cashing it now. “Nothing fancy or flashy,” he said into the greasy telephone receiver. “Just a reliable set of wheels. Will you help me?”
Following another long hesitation, Hunnicutt said, “I’ve got a boy now.”
Griff’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. He could press the issue. He could remind Hunnicutt that while he and his wife had been screwing each other blind, he’d been doing a series of menial and unpleasant tasks as punishment.
But what right did he have to drag this likable guy, a husband and now a father, into the tub of shit he was in? Hunnicutt would be guilty of aiding and abetting. He’d be violating his probation. It was a lot to ask of him. Too much.
“I understand,” Griff said.
“He just turned four.”
“It’s okay. Forget I asked.”
“He was conceived at the Comfort Inn.”
Griff’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath.
Hunnicutt said, “Last row of the lot. Third car in from Lemmon Avenue. Keys will be under the mat.”
Griff gripped the phone, squeezed his eyes shut, and what came from his lips might have been a silent prayer of thanks. Then he said, “If you’re asked, I stole the car, okay? Don’t get into trouble over this. Tell them I stole it.”
Hunnicutt said nothing.
“Did you hear me?”
Hunnicutt hung up.
On foot, Griff estimated it would take him a couple hours to walk to Hunnicutt Motors. He couldn’t leave until after dark.
Twilight came late this time of year. He had approximately nine hours to kill.
He was hungry, but his stomach would have to wait till he could use a drive-through and decrease the chances of being recognized.
Trying to ignore the hunger pangs, he lay on the bed and stared at the dirty ceiling. He thought about Laura, the hell she must be going through, the emotional pain, the guilt.
Because by now, she would know about his fingerprints on the murder weapon. Rodarte, in his insidious way, would have told her he knew about their affair. It was a classic case of jealous outrage, almost a cliché. Her lover had killed her husband.
And how would Laura have responded? How could she have responded? Would she tell Rodarte about their contract? No. Griff couldn’t see her telling all for Rodarte’s avid ears. She would omit that part. Not for Griff’s protection, or even her own. But for Foster Speakman’s. And the child’s. She might be painted a scarlet woman, but at all costs, she would preserve Foster’s reputation and secure the future of her baby.
If only he could talk to her…
But that wasn’t going to happen, so he might just as well stop wishing for it.
He opened the telephone directory again and looked for listings under Ruiz. There wasn’t one for a Manuelo. He hadn’t expected that kind of luck. But maybe the Salvadoran had relatives. Using the motel phone, Griff dialed the first number.
“Hola?”
“Manuelo, por favor.”
