turned to Phyllis. “He was right about your ass, Phyllis. Maybe if you kept it in jeans that didn’t hold it so tight, you wouldn’t get in so much trouble.”
Wade rushed back to the car, getting inside just as his father emerged from the roadhouse. That’s when he realized that in all the excitement he’d forgotten the gun. It was on the ground under the window. But it was too late to retrieve it now.
He looked back to see his dad lean under the window, pick up the gun, and put it in his holster as if he’d left it on the ground himself.
Glenn walked back to the car and got inside. His father never said a word about it.
Wade figured that his father’s advice, and the memory of that night, had saved his own life today. But this time, what Wade stood for wasn’t enough. He needed his gun.
His confrontation with the Indian did more than bring back old memories. It made Wade even hungrier than he was before. As he devoured his lukewarm pancakes and bacon, Mandy stood across from him, nursing an iced tea and keeping his mug filled with hot coffee.
“Was that legal?” she asked.
“I probably should have arrested them,” Wade said. “But it wasn’t practical.”
“I meant trashing Timo’s ride,” she said.
So that was the Indian’s name. Wade made a mental note of it.
“It isn’t a law on the books, but it’s a law that everyone understands.”
“An eye for an eye,” she said.
“Timo can file a grievance with the department if he wants,” Wade said. “He’ll probably prevail and get my badge.”
“That’s not how he expresses his grievances or how he prevails,” she said. “He’s maimed people for less. I’m surprised you’re sitting here instead of on your way to wherever you came from.”
“I didn’t finish eating,” he said. “These pancakes are too good to waste.”
“Aren’t you worried that he’ll come back?”
“I’m sure he will,” Wade said, removing his napkin and rising from his stool. “I’ll be back too, first thing tomorrow morning. But I’ve got a bunch of errands to do now, like dropping my car off at a body shop.”
“You’d be a fool to come back.”
“This is where I work,” he said.
“Work somewhere else. This isn’t someplace you want to be.”
“You came back,” he said.
“That’s different.” She glanced over at her father, who was facing a wall‐mounted TV, watching one of the TV judges delivering daytime TV justice, then fixed her gaze back on Wade. “You’ll die here.”
“Here is as good a place as any.”
Wade left a few dollars on the counter as a tip and walked out, stopping for a moment outside the door to survey the street. There was nobody waiting for him.
Wade wiped the glass off the driver’s seat and drove the Mustang to a body shop that he’d seen near his hotel. With no windshield or windows, the chilly night air blew through his car like it was a convertible. He’d cranked up the heat and aimed the vents at himself, but it didn’t help much.
He called his insurance company, sorted things out with them, and made it clear to the shop owner not to replace the plastic Bullitt crap. In fact, he asked if they could remove whatever was left of the Bullitt stuff inside the car as well. The shop guy thought he was nuts but agreed to do it for a few extra bucks on top of the deductible payment, since he’d have to order parts to replace the undamaged ones that they were removing. That was fine with Wade.
He rented a Ford Explorer, which was dropped off for him at the body shop, and made sure that he signed up for all the available insurance, which cost him nearly as much as renting another car. But after what had happened to his Mustang, and the likelihood of Timo’s retaliation, Wade figured the insurance was a wise investment. He transferred his gun locker from the Mustang to the rear of the Explorer and drove off.
His first stop was the Home Depot, where he bought the lumber and supplies that he’d
Wade rushed back to the car, getting inside just as his father emerged from the roadhouse. That’s when he realized that in all the excitement he’d forgotten the gun. It was on the ground under the window. But it was too late to retrieve it now.
He looked back to see his dad lean under the window, pick up the gun, and put it in his holster as if he’d left it on the ground himself.
Glenn walked back to the car and got inside. His father never said a word about it.
Wade figured that his father’s advice, and the memory of that night, had saved his own life today. But this time, what Wade stood for wasn’t enough. He needed his gun.
His confrontation with the Indian did more than bring back old memories. It made Wade even hungrier than he was before. As he devoured his lukewarm pancakes and bacon, Mandy stood across from him, nursing an iced tea and keeping his mug filled with hot coffee.
“Was that legal?” she asked.
“I probably should have arrested them,” Wade said. “But it wasn’t practical.”
“I meant trashing Timo’s ride,” she said.
So that was the Indian’s name. Wade made a mental note of it.
“It isn’t a law on the books, but it’s a law that everyone understands.”
“An eye for an eye,” she said.
“Timo can file a grievance with the department if he wants,” Wade said. “He’ll probably prevail and get my badge.”
“That’s not how he expresses his grievances or how he prevails,” she said. “He’s maimed people for less. I’m surprised you’re sitting here instead of on your way to wherever you came from.”
“I didn’t finish eating,” he said. “These pancakes are too good to waste.”
“Aren’t you worried that he’ll come back?”
“I’m sure he will,” Wade said, removing his napkin and rising from his stool. “I’ll be back too, first thing tomorrow morning. But I’ve got a bunch of errands to do now, like dropping my car off at a body shop.”
“You’d be a fool to come back.”
“This is where I work,” he said.
“Work somewhere else. This isn’t someplace you want to be.”
“You came back,” he said.
“That’s different.” She glanced over at her father, who was facing a wall‐mounted TV, watching one of the TV judges delivering daytime TV justice, then fixed her gaze back on Wade. “You’ll die here.”
“Here is as good a place as any.”
Wade left a few dollars on the counter as a tip and walked out, stopping for a moment outside the door to survey the street. There was nobody waiting for him.
Wade wiped the glass off the driver’s seat and drove the Mustang to a body shop that he’d seen near his hotel. With no windshield or windows, the chilly night air blew through his car like it was a convertible. He’d cranked up the heat and aimed the vents at himself, but it didn’t help much.
He called his insurance company, sorted things out with them, and made it clear to the shop owner not to replace the plastic Bullitt crap. In fact, he asked if they could remove whatever was left of the Bullitt stuff inside the car as well. The shop guy thought he was nuts but agreed to do it for a few extra bucks on top of the deductible payment, since he’d have to order parts to replace the undamaged ones that they were removing. That was fine with Wade.
He rented a Ford Explorer, which was dropped off for him at the body shop, and made sure that he signed up for all the available insurance, which cost him nearly as much as renting another car. But after what had happened to his Mustang, and the likelihood of Timo’s retaliation, Wade figured the insurance was a wise investment. He transferred his gun locker from the Mustang to the rear of the Explorer and drove off.
His first stop was the Home Depot, where he bought the lumber and supplies that he’d
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