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From the corner of his eye Montoya saw a movement as Eileen came around the corner from what Montoya guessed was the bedroom area. One side of her housedress sagged, the pocket bulging.
A gun?
Montoya’s heart stilled. His muscles tensed.
Had she gone to the back and picked up a small pistol?
“I think we’re about done here,” Eileen said, her lips thin. She nodded toward Zavala. “Ned, here, needs to rest. Same with me. I ain’t been well.”
Montoya’s eyes never left her.
“Cancer, ya know. Ned, he takes good care of me. We take care of each other. And we don’t need no one comin’ out here, rilin’ up our dogs, makin’ me jumpy, and askin’ all kinda questions that we don’t need to answer.”
The bulge in the pocket moved.
What?
Moved?
As whatever it was inside was alive?
In a chilling flash he remembered the stark white of the water moccasin’s open mouth, its needle-like fangs.
“What have you got there, Eileen?” His own sidearm was holstered at his shoulder. He could retrieve it in a split second.
Would that be too late?
The bulge moved again.
“I heard you asking about the little gators.” She smiled coldly and reached into her pocket.
“Stop!” Montoya ordered. “Hands up. Where I can see them!”
“I was just gonna show you an itty-bitty baby.”
As she began to withdraw her hand, Montoya drew his weapon, aiming it straight at her heart.
“Whoa!” Ned yelled, nearly falling down as he held out his palms. “Put down the fuckin’ gun! Great God almighty! Put it the fuck down!”
Eileen’s graying eyebrows twitched up. “No need for that,” she said, staring blithely down the barrel of Montoya’s service weapon. She pulled a baby alligator from her pocket and the tiny creature stared at him with unblinking reptilian eyes.
“Jesus, Mom. Why?” Ned said, and looked as if he might have a heart attack, his face drained of all color.
Eileen stroked the back of the alligator’s head with one finger, but she stared straight at Montoya and said reproachfully, “Don’t tell me, Detective, that yer scared of this tiny thing.”
The woman was nuts! And enjoying this.
Montoya lowered his weapon.
“Jesus, Ma, what’re ya thinkin’?” Ned demanded, and reached for his pack of Camels.
“Maybe you want this little guy for the missus,” Eileen suggested to Montoya, her smile twisting with cold humor. To her son, she added, “Serves him right for bustin’ in here and askin’ all sorts of questions.”
“He didn’t bust in, Ma. We let him in.”
“You did.”
“Holy shit!” Ned dropped into his chair and rubbed both hands through his hair. “Are you crazy?” Then to Montoya, “Just leave.”
