Old Enough | Chapter 13

Chapter 13
STRINGTOWN, LONG HOLLER AND EASILYS

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He'd finished his route except for reporting. He was hot and thirsty and wondering what was so special about being a special agent. Look out! Aunt Ida was out in her yard picking blackberries. Using all his special skills, he tried to sneak past. She wore a bonnet to protect her from the sun and he didn't think she'd see him under the floppy brim. Wrong! She saw him all right and naturally she had a job for him. Manno! She was getting as bad as Miss Valjean -- not really. But lately Aunt Ida had an awful lot for him to do, didn't she?

"You, Neal, help pick and I'll make cobbler, the Lord allowing, for you and the marshal."

Her cobblers are good even though most of the berries wind up in her cordial. Besides liniment, cordial is Aunt Ida's only medicine. She rubs her feet with liniment and drinks cordial for her quinsy. This doesn't seem so terrible to Neal. Hey, you see old people on TV who use lots more than two medicines. Anyhow, his mother wishes Aunt Ida would just rub her feet and forget quinsy. Mariah says live and let live and let's hope she doesn't get confused and drink the wrong thing. No way! You know by smell the liniment would burn your throat like fire. Aunt Ida finally turned him loose and he ran to the dog pen to wash his hands under the hose. Molly was alone. Mr. Watch had the day off and he and Rufus had gone fishing. Okay, should Neal find Pete and Jaime and tell them about yesterday? Not everything but some of what happened? Pete might like the dream pieces but Neal couldn't decide. As today wore on, yesterday became more and more another's story and less his. What to say? Hey, you could say he wasn't proud of each part he played in yesterday.

First things first. He had to report. The marshal didn't answer his knock on the door of Cabin C. Was his boss off on another hunt without him? While he began to search, his thoughts trickled down to today where they belonged and which had started out okay. Was today going to get awful? You never know. It was dark inside the café but weird people show up in the dark. By the bar stood Mr. Sykeston drinking coffee. He wore a dark green jumpsuit with as many zipped pockets as Mr. Watch's but the pockets didn't bulge and there were sharp pleats in the pants. He set down his mug and waved a CD at Mariah. "Here for your pleasure is an almost completely forgotten artist from Kansas City," he said. "Miss Julia Lee. Everything from I woke up this morning with an awful aching head to I didn't like it the first time but oh, how it grew on me. Keep her awhile. She bears replaying. Marvelous Pendergast period material!" Neal looked around desperately for the marshal.

"Let's have your thoughts on reality programming," said his sister who loves this kind of talk. Wur! You might not know what people are saying but your ears still hear them. Neal's do anyway. "I think they've gone too far. They're banging on doors and exposing the very worst. If my interest is music, action, sex, drama, humor or any genre and I'm given the choice between amateur and professional performances, why would I pay for amateurs?"

"Too true, an interesting point meriting further discussion," said Mr. Sykeston. Meanwhile, Neal tried to squeeze by and out of range because, hey, he did not want their attention.

"And then there are the trailers," Mariah babbled. Lavook avout! She had him by the arm but she was scratching his back through his shirt, which feels so good when you're hot that you can't move until it stops. That's just how good it feels. "I ask you, please, who cares? Do I give a bloody fig newton that the actors eat Hohos for breakfast and the director eats poached salmon? Do I give a fat rat's buns why the writers chose Toledo as the location?"

Mr. Sykeston just smiled at her. He's a good audience for Mariah -- that's for sure.

"You'll agree," she went on, "that living into the 21st century grants us the dubious pleasure of seeing classics made twice and thrice. Apparently, no new dramas, comedies or musicals are available to film. Why not? You tell me! Anyhow, filmmakers redo a good thing a second time and a third time. This turns into an overmixed bag literally. For example, take Alfie."

"I have yet to recover from Blues Brothers 2K," said Mr. Sykeston. "I'm still healing."

"Are you mad?" asked Mariah; she stopped the back scratching and when Neal came alive and opened his eyes her eyebrows had risen to the ceiling. "Now, that's a great film, no remake. I'm talking remakes here!" She swatted Neal's rear before he could get clear.

That's his sister for you -- you take the good with the bad. At a corner table he found the marshal playing Scrabble with himself, which Mariah claims you can't do. Neal explained there was nothing to report. The marshal said this was the best news he'd had in a while. He said after lunch he was going to visit Bud's grandfather. He chose a letter and studied the board. Next he turned it upside down and nothing came out so he poured coffee in his cup.

"Say, you want to come along?" he asked; "might be some new pups."

"Sure." Hey, if Neal could make it through today without seeing Pete and Jaime, maybe by tomorrow he'd know exactly how much he wanted to tell them about yesterday. He should practice his throw but he could do that after supper. This seemed a smart way to go. Even so, he felt funny in the truck with the marshal and Molly as though things were like usual because they weren't. Was this what it meant to be sorry when your bridges get burnt?

"Putting fears to rest," the marshal said. Wur! You don't want to listen to other people's fears when you have your own, not really. Also, you can expect fears when you feel guilty.

Of course, the marshal told Neal his fears anyway. An agent's job is to be there and you can always tune out. Neal scratched Molly under her chin and counted the sparrow hawks on the power lines, each alone and guarding territory, each staring down with hungry eyes. They don't scare him but you can bet they scare the gophers, moles and voles when they dive for their dinners. Oh, well. You can't spend your life worrying about gophers, moles and voles. When he was only six, it was little hawks he worried about. They made him sad because they seemed so hungry. The marshal set him straight. Country hawks usually have enough to eat. That's why hawks in the country have a better life than hawks in the city.

Talking about people and hawks, sort of the same thing works for both. At least to Neal it seems so.

There are whole bunches of Miller and Roundtree kids living in broken trailers and falling down sheds with outdoor bathrooms on the slopes and ridges outside the town limits. They aren't hungry but they are poor. You can tell by their clothes and their shoes and they don't have lunch money and Johnny Miller didn't have a uniform for the Milo Mules until the marshal and Mr. Watch pitched in and paid for it. Aunt Ida claims the Roundtree dad is worthless and neither of the moms is much. So what? Why does that make a difference? Why is that something that people say? Kids can't help who their parents are, can they?

It's better to be a poor kid in the country than in the city. At least it's better in Neal's part of the good old USA. Miller and Roundtree kids can grow fruit and vegetables, catch fish, trap rabbits, maybe raise chickens. People are generous at harvest time when they have plenty and usually they do because food grows here. In the desert it must be way different for kids and for grown-ups too. No matter how old you are being poor in the desert must be worse than being poor in the city because what difference does age make if there's nothing to eat? It may make a difference if there's not enough to eat although Neal isn't sure why. Manno! Who wants to think about anyone with not enough or nothing to eat anywhere? Aren't these fears? And if they aren't fears, what are they? Neal would really like to know. Meanwhile, the marshal kept putting his to rest. Neal gave up and listened; he figured this was best.

"Easilys may not be what you call easy to deal but more often than not they tell the whole truth. They work hard and pay their way. That family has raised corn and beans for the Fairwell family since anyone can remember. And I gather from Jake that Boyd is now picking up acreage of his own." The marshal squinted and drew his foxy chin down into his neck. He gripped his right leg. Molly nosed his hand and whined a bit. Neal would like to believe the marshal doesn't have to hold onto the leg to keep it from jumping up and down on the gas pedal and brake but when he puts his fears to rest, he sure does hold onto it.

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" It doesn't hurt a bit to learn about a good thing in somebody else's life. Hey, you never know. It might spill over. It doesn't hurt to hope for connections to help you. This is a fact and Neal needed help bigtime especially now that there was yet another secret building on the right side in the back of his mouth where something rude and ugly was going on between his jawbone and a new permanent tooth.

Molly nosed the marshal's hand and watched the road. Did he have more fears to unload?

"I'll tell you what, agent, the mayor agrees with you. She finds it encouraging, says it proves Easilys are beginning to make something of themselves. Me, I find it depressing. First, they always have been something. Second, you need 10,000 acres to make a profit off crop farming now and Boyd's a long ways from that. By the time he gets there, he'll be dead and so will we. Shoot, there I go again saying things I shouldn't. Shouldn't say half what I say to you, not to a boy your age. No wonder you get upset. Shows what happens when you move away and come home and try to take up where you left off. You have thoughts of your own it doesn't do to share and you're too old to keep your mouth shut. Well, agent, I promise to watch mine from here on. If you give me another chance, maybe we don't need to tell your mother that I made you cry? Maybe keep that business strictly between us, you and I?

Neal was piling up 20 million tons of secrets from his mother and hated it but he told the marshal he wouldn't tell her. The hills rolled under the wheels and his stomach rolled too. Okay, not now but some day he'd tell the marshal, and his mother, all about being lost and found and what he'd learned but right now he and the marshal had a private and personal relationship with only one hitch to fix and you do what you have to do and what you can do.

"After Bud's dad comes home, he'll maybe buy more acres and Bud and his brothers and sisters can keep going and get more acres and what they have will get bigger and bigger and they'll all do fine." And why was he busy setting a course for Bud's future that Bud had flat out said he didn't want to take? Manno! Words fly out of your mouth. You wish they hadn't but it's too late and if people want you to talk about what you just blabbed, there's no way to stall. You hope and pray you don't have this problem when you're old like the marshal?

"You think so, do you?" The fox face relaxed. "Bud's grandfather is one of the best men I've ever known. I trusted Boyd when we were boys and my feelings haven't changed. A good man is a good man. And, of course, he's special for his dogs. Did you know Molly was the runt of the litter and the cheapest? Jake says when he picked her out, she was misbehaving and fixing to get herself shipped south." Neal's tongue touched the left corner of his mouth.

"Can you beat that, girl?" the marshal asked Molly as she nosed his hand for the billionth time. "Lock you in a crate and send you down to the Boot." Hey, here's the thing in case you're wondering: if Neal wants a trip to the dentist, he can complain about a sore tooth.

Mavaybave savomedavay avand mavaybave navot. Molly's ears perked up and she smiled. She leaned across him to look out, leaving a big smear. When she got herself centered ahead, he wiped the side window with his elbow. He planned to put off the dentist. Hey, wasn't it his pain? He was still worried about how to take back what he'd said about Bud's future but he gave up worrying about this. You can't worry about everything and Bud would probably never know. Who would tell him? Anyhow, you need to be on the watch for lies. Lies slip in between the words that slip out and fill the holes right in front of your eyes.

They were in Stringtown. When Neal travels through Stringtown, he is way glad it is not on his route and way glad when the empty falling-down houses, barns, trailers and wrecked automobiles disappear. Then he tries to forget Stringtown until he has to travel through it again. The marshal signalled, slowed and turned north. Molly growled. Were they close to where she was born? Now there were prefabricated and manufactured homes with people living in them and taking care of them and planting windbreaks of poplar trees and gardens of pansies and sweet peas. There were regular trucks, tractors, farm birds and animals: cattle, goats, hogs, horses, llamas, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese, guineas and turkeys.

"Used to be cypress shanties," said the marshal. "You know cypress, don't you? Hairy, red wood. Pretty stuff. I remember ivy and bougainvillea climbing the buildings, dressing the exteriors. This is where ivy belongs. Toughens up the perula, petunias and pansies. But maybe tough plants compromise generators and tanks and various satellite paraphernalia. Before over-consumption and pay for storage, outbuildings of corrugated iron were made to store everything from Model-T Fords to hay. Don't seem to need those now, do they?"

"No." Actually, Neal didn't understand the consumption and storage problem even though the marshall complained about it a lot. Also, he didn't care what used to be. He was too crazy in the head with bougainvillea and paraphernalia. Sometimes you don't have a choice and AV language takes over your whole brain. Bavou-gavain-vavi-llava but the "ll" is Spanish and sounds like "y" the same as in llama. Pava-rava-phaver-naval-avi-ava. Okay, you do weird stuff with this even if you say it in English. Maybe he'd look up both words later in the OED. He had no idea how to spell either. He'd have to get help from his sister.

"Note the lack of lines and towers, agent. Ever wonder why no public power or water gets delivered to Long Holler? The answer's pure and simple. The inhabitants seldom vote and the county has other priorities. The mayor told me this and when it comes to voters, Birdie knows her way around the block. And that isn't all she knows about Long Holler, not by a long shot." The foxy chin sunk low. He was heading for his fears again -- sure enough! This could be the second worst day of Neal's life, stuffed with new bad stuff after old bad stuff.

"I thought they had water and electricity; I thought the mayor gave them some." The mayor's no giver; like a flash sometimes you realize what you just said was totally dumb.

"Gave them? Try sold them. Oh, I know what you mean. First she stole that real estate in Milo by paying back taxes and wasn't able to sell it. Then she moved on Long Holler. She had an idea for a new trailer park, even secured financing for the trailers. You know what Boyd told Jake? 'Why in tarnation would we do that? We each got our own piece of land and we're fine. No need to be crowding close.' Long Holler residents aren't fools. As for Birdie, her motivation is greed but there's more. Half the time she knows what she's doing and half the time she doesn't. Like a fish in and out of the water. She's from St. Louis, agent. Wasn't raised here." The marshal slowed down to about one mile an hour. He wriggled his small body and hunched over the steering wheel. He has this habit when he gets deep into what he's saying and deep into listening to himself; at these times he pretty much forgets Neal.

"No Easily went past 8th grade. 'What's good enough for pa's good enough for the boys,' their mother said. Pretty danged regressive, huh? I mean things should get better for each succeeding generation, not remain stagnant for the sake of continuity. Don't you agree?"

"Sure." But Neal understood this well enough to conjure up some new worries. Had driving a big rig been good enough for his dad? Working on a deer farm would have to be better. Molly moaned low in her throat and swung her shoulder into his face. The marshal pulled her back and told her to behave herself and she did. Still, not everyone can do the same job. Hey, not everyone wants to. Also, lots of people don't get to do the jobs they do want to do.

"Had fun when we were kids though," said the marshal. Neal gave up on jobs and tried to imagine the marshal as a kid. It wasn't too hard. "Boyd was the youngest in the gang of us who put the girls' outhouse on top of the Methodist Church. That's the kind of trouble we got into. Wild and wooly is what they called us when they caught us, which wasn't often, but we were just boys. Guess you could say we were like The Little Rascals plus 30 years. Still barefoot with cane fishing poles and whistling leaves, still uninhibited. We thought a chocolate phosphate from Jelly's on the square was the greatest thing since sliced bread."

The marshal smacked his lips. Neal wouldn't have minded a chocolate phosphate. When people you trust say something's good, run a test. If you don't, you might miss the best.

"Anyhow, they caught us that night and delivered each boy to his home with the Methodist preacher by the name of Lightleg leading the parade of all who wanted to see lessons taught and justice done. Looking as stern as the Lord himself, Pa Lightfoot showed the preacher to the door and took me to the shed. He asked why we picked on the Methodists and slapped the strap against his leg, waiting on an answer. I tried to explain we had nothing against the Methodists, that we chose the one church with top windows wide enough to work two pulleys. Then I took the whipping. Whippings were expected back then and you were not expected to put up a fight. Now, there's one thing that's changed for the better, right?"

"For sure!" Molly shivered. So did Neal. He'd come close to a whipping when he wrote his name on Mariah's mirror with her black lipstick but his mother had come to the rescue. She'd told his sister he didn't know better, that he was just a baby. Well, he was only three.

"That's right, girl, your old home's not far. But don't forget whose dog you are."

The Easily homestead is only seven miles from Milo and this was Neal's first visit. Who knows why? Also, Milo seemed a million miles away? Life is weird. The marshal turned and followed tracks made by wheels over wheels. Angled together were two manufactured homes, one brand new and one not so new. White curtains hung in the windows of both. In back was a septic tank under pink clematis. Further back were outbuildings for animals, vehicles and equipment. Blooming purple petunias surrounded the satellite dish in a tire. Neal wondered what the marshal thought about this. Bud's grandparents had storage space. Also, they had pava-rava-phaver-naval-avi-ava for their TV. In honor of Bud's dad, The Stars and Stripes flew from a pole. A big yellow ribbon wrapped around the magnolia.

In the side yard, Mr. Easily sat in the driver's seat of an old John Deere tractor polished to a fine shine. Most people come ask what you want if you park on their property but he waited like king of the mountain in his black hat with a steel wool beard circling his face. His hand and stump were black with grease. The marshal loves any vehicle, contraption, machine or gadget and hurried to the tractor. Mr. Easily climbed down. Molly jumped across Neal and out the door. She raced for the marshal and wrapped herself around his leg. Neal didn't see or hear any kids or any other dogs so he took his time unbuckling. He'd been hoping for puppies or Bud or, hey, at least the twins. Mr. Easily was heading for the truck. Oh, well. When you're on the job and you don't expect it, good can surprise you; you never can tell.

"She sure don't look as how she's been missing her home," said Mr. Easily about Molly. He wiped his hand on a rag and lifted Neal down. Neal could have climbed down from the truck without help but Mr. Easily didn't know this. You let people do stuff for you sometimes. If you don't, they might think the wrong thing. Neal looked around. In the side yard, he saw a brown, square, vine-covered building the size of a tree house on stilts stuck into the ground.

"We used to wait up there for sunrise," said Mr. Easily who seemed proud of the little building and why not? It was cool. "That blind provided a fair to middling amount of meat for the table. Ever so often one of Tom Jasper's finest would take a notion to mosey our way. Venison for the Easilys never bothered Tom. He put no brand on Fairwell deer. It's open range today, far as I know, though I haven't asked Sykeston so maybe it isn't. Truth is I haven't seen a deer since the River crossing except the Old Woman and her tribe. Haven't seen them this year but they'll show up. Better forage and safer. Nearer the River, farther from the Interstate. Did you all know last year there were over 8,000 deer and vehicle accidents in this state? I saved the clipping from The Kansas City Star. So what if no people died? Hunters killed 110,995 deer and the population's still at 1 million. I tell you! Don't get me started on deer control. I'm an old fool about it. Old fools don't know when to quit."

Mr. Easily shook his head. "I was a young fool once and now I'm an old one." He grinned at the marshal. Look out! He was frowning at Neal. Why? Neal was pretty used to the stump now. Too bad you call it that. Oh, well. But he definitely didn't want to annoy Mr. Easily. He just didn't. That's all. Hey, no shake and make up either. "Don't know what to do you for you, boy. Bud's working part-time at Pork Ridge and going fishing at Mallard Lake. The rest are at Church Camp. Except the baby and you don't want any truck with that little scamp."

"Don't worry about the agent, Boyd. He'll be fine. Any good news in the dog line?"

"Two bitches ready to whelp next month and I'm fixing to quit the dog business."

"That's bad news," and the marshal got a wrench from his toolbox in the truck bed's recess.

"Won't pay for itself. Used to do but no longer. Like hogs and mules. You can't raise hogs for money now either. And mules! It's a crying shame. Shoot, you and I remember when a good plow mule was an animal to be reckoned with. But you had to be willing to take the time to do the reckoning. Mules were solid workers and smart. Time was when mules hauled ore in the California and Nevada silver mines. Now I ask you, what's a good mule to do these days? Mules need more than a fancy ring parade and a neck ribbon. Missouri mules are not house pets. Nosirree, bobtail! Here, you and the boy want to see some mules; you and the boy want to have yourselves a good look. Bertha," he yelled, "bring me out my mule book."

The marshal leaned on the tractor and his left leg jiggled. Did he have time to look at a mule book? Didn't he have questions to ask? How would he start? "Ever had the engine apart?"

"Well, now, Will, while we wait on the mule book," Mr. Easily told him, "you want to have yourself a look-see? Truth is, I'd be purely glad to get your opinion. Daddy traded for this back in 1976 right before he died. Deere had gone from 2 to 6 cylinders and he just had to have himself one. Later we slapped on Chalmer parts and had the engine uprated from 94 to 115 HP. Stopped running in the 80's. Bud replaced valves last year and went all over here and back again to find a match. Ever once in a while I get on just to see if it'll catch."

Okay, the marshal's taking a time out to fix the tractor. Neal's been here before.

"Turns over," said Mr. Easily, "just won't catch and gets hung. Of course, it ain't young."

It took a lot of cleaning and coaxing but finally the engine ran: chug-a-chug-chug-chung. The problem turned out to be a stuck choke, something Mr. Easily said he wouldn't have known what to look for if he'd remembered to check. Neal had a hard time understanding what that meant and also how you could do much of any job with one hand even if you remembered to check until he watched a while and discovered how handy with one hand Mr. Easily was. While he watched, he patted Molly. There was nothing else to do and she was still very, very scared. You would be too if you were yanked away from your mother while you were still a baby in a certain place and then suddenly you got taken back there.

"Don't you know you all can come see me any time," said Mr. Easily who was way happy. "Bertha, bring a couple of pops and one Bud. Bertha," he yelled again. Boy, he was loud! Neal felt like putting his hands over his ears but he didn't. You can land in big trouble if people want you to hear. People get mad and maybe louder and yell right in your ear.

"Got to decline the beer if it's for me, Boyd. I'm sort of on official business. Besides, I'm driving. I could use a grape pop if you've got one. And answers to questions I should have asked you long ago." Before he put the wrench away, the marshal wiped his hands up and down and long and hard on an old denim shirt. He doesn't like to get the truck dirty. He scuffs off the bottoms of his feet and inspects them before he climbs up into the cab. Neal means to do this too but forgets to scuff and forgets to inspect. Oh, well, nobody's perfect.

"Official business, huh? Okay. How bout you, small fry? Don't be shy."

"Crème soda?" You might as well ask for what you want a whole lot. Why not?

"One orange, one grape and one crème soda," yelled Mr. Easily.

"Boyd, it's Mary Comfort I'd like to talk to you about, just between you and me."

"What about her?"

The two men had their backs against the tractor and even though they couldn't see over the hills and through the trees, they looked off towards the River. Hey, you don't need to see something to know that it is there. Also you don't need to talk fast to ask the right questions and get answers from an old friend you just helped. Inside the newer home a dog yelped.

"How long since Mary's paid a visit to the Holler?" Whelp means become a mother.

"Bout a year." Maybe the yelping dog wishes early next month was already here.

"How long since you've had a meth problem?" Maybe the dog wishes whelping or having puppies was the future of another dog and so was taking care of them and raising them.

"Bout a year." Mr. Easily peered down at Neal as though he wondered what to do with him. Only the marshal understands an agent needs to hear important information and even the marshal doesn't always feel this way. You never know. Anyhow, you can pretty much count on most people getting very unhappy and upset every single time Neal learns about sex and drugs. Violence is big with his mother. She and Aunt Ida argued about whether he should see The Passion of Christ. His mother won so he won't be seeing that movie for a while. When you're a grown-up, you can see any movie, any TV show, any stage act. This is a fact.

Mr. Easily's huge body moved and swayed. "Bertha!" he hollered twice and this time he waited until Bud's grandmother filled the newer home's doorway. Two gray braids wound around her skull and pulled the skin tight beside her eyes. She wore an apron and had a magazine in her hand and looked over her glasses. She did not speak and she frowned until she saw Neal. Then she smiled so things got better. It's creepy when someone comes and stays and frowns and says nothing. "Bring orange and grape pop and crème soda and the mule book on the table by the bed and the pack of Milton's letters you got put away in the drawer. I want to show the marshal present and past. Looks like that time is here at last."

With his soda, Mrs. Easily brought Neal a piece of yummy lemon bread. "Help yourself to more, honey," she said. Mrs. Easily calls you honey if you're under 10 or over 70. She just does. She handed the marshall his pop and her husband his pop, book and letters. Then she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. Mr. Easily gulped down the orange in one drink. He set aside the letters and opened Missouri Mules: Their Origins and Times. He turned the pages to some really good pictures. His five fingers were still black and Neal was surprised he didn't leave smudge marks. Mrs. Easily watched them and the marshal sipped and jiggled his leg. You didn't have to be a genius to tell mules were just mules to him and he would rather start reading Milton's letters. After Mr. Easily closed the book, Mrs. Easily came over to help him spread out his brother's letters on the grass. There were ten. The marshal put on his Dollar specs and everyone including Neal read what had been written.

They read to themselves silently. Like always the marshal moved his foxy lips even though the writing was a snap, mostly three or four lines printed on greeting cards with flowery borders. Boringus stuff like "weather good" and "working hard". But the same message in red ink that followed each of the ten signatures was not boringus. "I'm clean. Warn Mrs. Fairwell, watch the young ones and you know who, and you know who and what I mean!"

"Milt is middling fair now. Barely got himself away in time," said Mr. Easily. "Nurse Mary Comfort could have stayed in Seattle, Washington for all the good she ever did the Easily family or Tom Jasper or the Fairwell family and that's the Lord's plain truth so help me!"

"Amen," said Mrs. Easily.

"Known each other a coon's age, Boyd. Dang, why am I employed?"

"Now, Will, after Milt left, wasn't up to us to interfere. That much seemed clear."

The marshal wrote Mr. Easily a receipt for the card and letter evidence. He kept shaking his fox head like he was in a daze. Whatever Nurse Comfort did before she returned to Seattle, Neal didn't want to think about it. You can get a headache when you try not to think but sometimes you're too tired to put together the facts even if you know them. Molly was asleep on the floor of the truck and she could have been in big trouble. She's not supposed to hop in the truck unless she asks permission but the marshal didn't seem to mind. He took off, spinning the wheels a little -- not a lot, just a little and kicking up a little dust behind.

In front of them flew a redtail, a big one. No tooth ache is small, in Neal's opinion.