Part Two, Chapter Eleven

Donovan sat on the striped sofa flipping through a deck of cards by the light of a solar lantern. It was after nine and the electricity had been turned off, but he didn't care. He wasn't used to so much bright light, anyway. With practiced ease, he laid out a game of Klondike. After a few hands he went to the bedroom door. Carina appeared to be sleeping. That was good. He had contemplated giving her one of Amalia's tranquilizing drinks, but Alvi had been so emphatic about the dangers of allowing her to have such a concoction after so much champagne that he abandoned the idea. Now he had to wait until he was certain she wouldn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing. This was no time for an impulsive move, and he needed to be sure she would sleep deeply enough not to wake and wonder where he had gone.

He switched off the lantern, waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then walked to the balcony. The lights in Alvi's wagon still shone. Didn't it just figure he was an insomniac? Donovan couldn't escape the feeling that the location of their room, right where Alvi could see it, was no accident. He wouldn't approve of Donovan leaving Carina alone, even if she was asleep, but there was no way around it. They were out of money and he was tired of Alvi paying for everything. Where did he get all that money? Spying must be lucrative. There were probably ample opportunities for blackmail.

Donovan sat down again, but he had to leave soon. He had already made a mental map of how he would get to the cab stand without being seen from the campground. If only he could be certain that Carina was really asleep and Alvi wasn't wandering the grounds, looking for people to pump for interesting information. Donovan stretched out on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Suddenly he sat up. How long had it been? He hurried to the window and glanced toward the gypsy wagon. No change. Back to the bedroom. No change there, either. He wished he knew what time it was, but he sensed he couldn't wait much longer. He patted his pockets to make sure he had the last of his money on him, then he checked his papers. All was in order.

He slipped out the door and down the hallway to a staircase at the far end of the building. At the ground level, he shut the door softly behind him and looked around. He was standing in a sparse field with a long row of stables in the distance at the end a dirt path. That was where their animals were, if he wanted to get one. But no, it was easier to hire, even though it meant spending money. The driver would know where to take him, and maybe he could talk the boy into giving him the "special" rate.

He walked around the far side of the building, making a long circuit before coming up behind the last cab in the queue. He knew he couldn't ask this boy to take him anywhere because they went out strictly in the order they had arrived, but that didn't mean he couldn't catch the next driver before he pulled in. When he saw an impossibly young Hispano boy come around the corner driving a bay hitched to a two-wheeled gig of old auto parts, he ran over. "Where can I find a poker game, son?"

The boy yanked on the reins. "You looking for directions or you looking for a ride?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd take me. That is, unless you’re looking forward to waiting in the dispatch line tonight."

The boy cast a morose look at the line of hacks and rickshaws waiting for customers. "I don't make no money sitting in line."

"And I don't win money standing here talking." Donovan reached for the door. "Have we got a deal?"

"Claro. I know just the place."

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