Long nodded. “My wife wanted me to get into that a few years back. I had a buddy who said he could hook me into a nice desk job with the county—building code administrator.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t do it though. You know, sitting in one of those damned cubicles all day.”

Deadmarsh grabbed another block of granite and turned on the mud without the slightest waver. “Benefits might have been good,” he said. “You’ve got two kids to look after.”

“Yeah, that’s what my wife said. But guys like us are born to work outside, right? Blue sky and green grass.”

Deadmarsh said nothing. His T-shirt was soaked in sweat, clinging like a second skin. Long remembered thinking the man had been in good shape when he’d started—wouldn’t have hired him otherwise—but after a summer spent humping granite slabs up and down hills he looked like a cruiserweight boxer. Thick, lean muscle, not an ounce of fat anywhere.

“So just what part of the government did you work for?” Long pressed.

Deadmarsh dropped another block into place, and turned to look at him. He seemed to think about it, then said, “The part that worked.”

Long stared for a moment, then began to chuckle. “Ain’t no such thing.”

Deadmarsh’s phone chirped, and they both looked toward his motorcycle. The phone rarely went off, but when it did Deadmarsh always dropped what he was doing and checked the call. He vaulted up over the wall and went to the bike, a big BMW that somehow didn’t seem right to Long. He’d once asked Deadmarsh how he could afford a bike like that, and gotten the answer that his wife was a doctor. Long had nearly laughed out loud, thinking, Yeah, and that’s why you’re out here busting rock in ninety-degree heat.

Deadmarsh picked up the phone and checked the screen. He went very still, then typed a reply and waited. After less than a minute, he pocketed his phone and said, “I’ve got to go.”

That was all. No explanation or timeframe. Without another word, he swung a leg over the BMW and reached for the key.

“Go? What do you mean, go?”

Deadmarsh said nothing.

“I need you back in an hour to finish this pallet. I told the irrigation guy we’d be done this afternoon.”

“You’ll have to do it.” Deadmarsh cranked the engine and the big bike purred to life.

Incredulous, Long strode over and got in his face. He pointed to the pallet of rock. “You think I’m gonna haul that? To hell with you, mister! If you want your paycheck next week, you’d better be back by—”

“Look! I’m sorry to put you in a bind, but I quit. Keep the paycheck.” Deadmarsh leaned the bike straight and kicked up the stand. He reached for a helmet that was hooked onto the back.