"Maybe he got hungry for his red beans." Her face lifted to him, eyes
widening, and he shrugged. "Jacinto said something about dope."
She pursed her lips, moving around him toward the table. "Couldn't you
see it? Opium when we were in Mexico City. Peyote now."
"Those beans."
"Yes. You've heard it. The Indians call it _raíz diabólica_. Devil
weed. They've been using it for centuries in Mexico. Even the Aztecs
knew of it. They called it peyotl. It's effect isn't as marked as
opium. He seems capable of eating those beans all day. They make a
drink of it that's more potent."
"He said something about a complaint," Crawford told her.
Her mouth twisted somewhat. "Maybe he has an old wound. He's been
around. He'd take dope anyway. That's just the kind he is. You saw the
kind. Dissolute? I don't know. Whatever you want." She had got a punk
off the table and was lighting the candles in the porcelain candelabra
supported by oak wall brackets. Then she saw how he was looking at her,
and turned part way. "What is it?"