Page 104 of Ransom
"I know. That's why I'm telling you." Coyote shifted Nimue across his shoulders. "Mama used to say a man's first kill smells different from his hundredth. The first one smells like fear underneath. The hundredth smells like dinner. But there's a third smell. It's the rarest. She said I'd know it when I caught it, and I'd know not to ask."
"What's the third smell?"
"The smell of a man getting back something somebody took from him."
The truck went on. Ransom drove like a man hauling hay on a Sunday morning. Steady, no rush, taking the curves wide. I didn't watch the road in front of us. I watched the rope.
After a few miles, Ransom's hand came up off the wheel and the brake lights came on. The truck rolled to a stop. Coyote dropped over the side, taking the flashlight from Fenix, and walked back to crouch next to Rex's still body.
The flashlight beam moved across whatever was in the dirt at his feet for what felt like a long time. He put the back of his hand near Rex's mouth and moved the beam up the body.
Up at the bumper, Mateo shifted the .30-06 across his thighs and said something low to Linc. Linc snorted. I didn't catch what Mateo had said. I didn't have to. The two of them stood too close together, shoulders touching, Mateo's elbow in Linc's ribs.
Linc said, "Shut up, you ghoul."
Mateo grinned at the dirt.
Then Coyote stood up, walked back to the truck, and tapped the side of the bed.
"Still with us," Coyote said.
Ransom started the truck again.
We stopped the second time another mile down. Same procedure. Coyote dropped down. Coyote walked back. The flashlight beam moved across the body in the dirt. This time the beam hovered longer. This time Coyote went down on one knee and put a hand on Rex's chest and held it there. I couldn't tell if he was checking or saying goodbye. With Coyote, it was always hard to tell.
"Still breathing," he called up the road, lower.
Ransom started the truck again.
"Fucker's dying slow on purpose," Mateo muttered with a sigh.
Fenix nodded in agreement. "Bodies are stubborn."
It took another three miles for Rex Rawlins to die, and the better part of an hour. When it was done, Ransom got out and walked back to crouch next to the body. He was out of my sightline a moment. Then he stood up and walked back to the truck.
He came around to the tailgate and looked up at me.
"You want to see?"
"No," I said.
"All right."
"Did you check?"
"I checked."
"Pulse?"
"None."
I nodded and fished out my gun to hand it to Ransom. "Put one in the back of his head anyway."
Ransom held my eyes. "Yeah."
He turned and walked back down the road. The shot came a minute later, sharp and close, the kind of sound the desert eats clean. Then his boot steps came back.
"You want to ride up front?" he said.
