They got shitty prepackaged sandwiches at the gas station at Conchas Dam, then drove to Trementina, where they pulled off the road near a sign that said danger no trespassing: area patrolled by drone. Suzie took a nap in the car while Jim and Remy walked into the desert. The two men didn’t really talk: they filmed and muttered to each other only as necessary. One time Remy tried to bring up Suzie, but Jim brushed it off. There wasn’t much to see, and after about half an hour they were spotted by a drone. It hung in the sky watching them for ten minutes or so until a Scientologist pulled up in a Land Rover. He told them they had to leave or he’d have them arrested: he would drive them back to their car. He refused to turn on the air-conditioning. He refused to answer Jim’s questions. When he dropped them off, he told them that some of their drones were patrol drones, but others were armed. “You were lucky this time,” he said. “Don’t try your luck again.” Then he drove away. By that time it was getting late, so they decided to make a straight shot to the next hotel.

They hit Las Vegas, New Mexico, at around seven-thirty, and instead of taking I-25 north, Suzie took 518, heading up into the Sangre de Christos. She didn’t ask, just made a decision and drove, and Jim didn’t say anything. Then, past Tres Ritos, she turned southwest toward Santa Fe, buzzing down through Peñasco, Truchas, and Chimayo, and finally stopping at the Cities of Gold Casino and Hotel in Pojoaque a little after ten.

“How many rooms should I get?” Jim asked.

Suzie gave him a dirty eyeball. “Three rooms, Jim. Like usual.”

He nodded sagely. They got their rooms. Jim said “Happy trails” and went up. Suzie told Remy she was really tired and was gonna hit the sack. Remy got high and watched Fort Apache on cable.

In the morning, Jim was gone.