Chapter 23 Section five

Once inside the city (Santa Fe has 62,424 residents), he followed a sign that said "Historic Plaza."The busy downtown streets seem narrower and laid out like a maze, as if the 400-year-old city grew at will.Adobe houses can be seen here and there, as varied as they seem to have been added at will.Most of the buildings were low, save for a few three-story buildings whose pueblo-like structures reminded Decker of cave houses—which, he discovered, had turned out to be hotels.Even downtown parking garages are pueblo-style.He locked the Dodge Warrior and strolled down a street shaded by a long gatehouse.He saw a cathedral at the end of the street, which reminded him of churches in Spain.But before he got there, the square appeared on the left—a rectangle, the size of a city block in a small city.There are lawns, white metal benches and tall shade trees in the square, and in the center of the square is a Civil War Memorial.He saw a little diner called the Plaza Café and another big restaurant called the Ore House, with strings of dried red peppers hanging from the balcony of the big restaurant.Below the gatehouse of a slender, low old adobe building called the Governor's Mansion, Native Americans sit with their backs against the wall and spread blankets on the sidewalk in front of them, with silver and turquoise jewelry for sale .

Decker plopped down on a bench in the plaza, the slight intoxication from the margaritas starting to wear off.He felt a panic, wondering if he had made a big mistake.For the past 20 years, whether in the Special Forces or in the intelligence services, someone else has looked after him and arranged his life.Now, it was up to him to rely on himself, and he felt insecure. Some part of him told him he needed a new start. But what am I going to do? For a good start, find a house. But what about after that? Make an effort to reinvent yourself. What annoyed him was that his professional instincts were still there--as he walked across the square toward a hotel called La Fonda, he couldn't help but check to see if he was being watched.The hotel's quaint Spanish-style foyer had a warm and welcoming atmosphere, but his instinct kept harassing him, reminding him over and over not to be intoxicated by the environment, but to focus on observing the people around him.When he checked in to his room and walked back to the downtown parking garage, he looked around again to see if he was being watched.

He told himself that this kind of thing had to stop, I couldn't live like this anymore. A man with a gray beard followed him into the parking ramp.The man was wearing khaki trousers and a blue summer sweatshirt, baggy enough to conceal a pistol.Decker stopped by a car in front of the Dodge Warrior and pulled out his key, intending to use it as a weapon.But the man got into a Ranji pirate car and drove off. Decker told himself again that this kind of thing had to stop. He pulled into the garage of the La Fonda Hotel and went upstairs with his suitcase to his room, taking care not to look behind him.He purposely ate his dinner with his back to the restaurant door.At night, he wandered resolutely through downtown, choosing rather than avoiding dimly lit places.

In a small wooded park next to a deep concrete canal, a figure emerged from the darkness. "Give me your wallet." Decker froze. "I've got a gun. Listen, give me your fucking wallet." Decker stared at the street brat whose face he could barely make out and suddenly burst out laughing uncontrollably. "What the hell are you so funny about?" "After what I've been through, after I've forced myself to be paralyzed and let go, you're going to block my way? You must be kidding me." "You won't find it so funny when I put a fucking bullet in your fucking body."

"Okay, okay, I asked for it." Decker took out his wallet and took money out of it. "I only have so much money, take it all." "I said, I want your fucking wallet, not just your money." "Don't be too greedy. I can live without my money, but I need my driver's license and credit card." "You fucking stinky piece of shit, give me your wallet." Decker broke both of his arms, snatched the pistol into his pocket, and tossed the boy toward the gutter.He heard the snap of a branch, and the boy must have fallen into the bushes by the ditch.Decker leaned down and heard the guy moaning in the darkness below. "You swear too much."

He mentally made a mental note of the name of the nearest street, found a payphone, connected the 911 dispatcher, and told them to send an ambulance there.He then threw the pistol down the drain and walked back to the La Fonda Hotel.In the hotel bar, he ordered a glass of Cognac and sipped it slowly to calm his excitement.A notice on the wall caught his attention. "Is this a joke?" he asked the bartender. "Is it illegal to carry a weapon here?" "The only place you're not allowed to carry a weapon in New Mexico is a bar," the waiter replied. "You can carry a weapon when you're walking down the street, but it must be in the open."

"Hey, I'm so surprised." "Of course, many people don't follow the law and I'm sure they all covertly carry weapons." "This achievement is even more amazing." Decker said. "Also, everyone I know has a gun in their car." Decker stared at him blankly, just as he had just met the highwayman in the small park. "It seems that some precautions should be taken."