No wonder he hadn’t seen even a branch floating downriver this morning: things were all bogged up at the covered bridge. There was barely six inches of air between it and the water, and a whole poplar was pinned on the upstream side. In the tree’s branches were wood planks, a truck tire, half a white styrofoam cooler, an upside-down easy chair, and a gray rowboat, its nose wedged past a full branch into that space under the bridge. Leo took his blue sunglasses off and looked over toward the parking area behind the courthouse building. A green army truck was parked next to two police cars. The canvas at its back was rolled up past the metal frame and stacks of sandbags were inside. There were stacks outside too, all along the concrete river wall, six or seven rows high. Leo dropped GP’s letter in the mailbox in front of the Hungry Pioneer Inn, crossed the bridge road, and climbed the side steps into the police station.

“So then Farrell tells the captain he’s gonna break his own friggin’ record.”

A man dressed in camouflage shirt and pants leaned against the counter listening to Sergeant Mike. Two more soldiers sat on the bench near the front entrance. These men were younger, in laced boots, probably twenty or so, Leo thought. They both held empty green Coke bottles and watched Leo as he came in, their faces flushed and wet.

Sergeant Mike glanced over at him and kept talking. “’Course the cap’s all for it. He licks his pencil tip, right? Resets the old stopwatch. Now I’m standing there, and I’m getting a funny read on all this, you know? It’s not right; the guy’s got a three-year standing record for Most Accurate on a Draw but those little milliseconds are keeping him up at night, right? So anyways, Farrell holsters his piece and digs in his heels and I swear I knew what was going to friggin’ happen right when Farrell slaps leather and discharges his weapon. I’m thinkin’–Jesus, nobody’s gonna beat that for speed.” Sergeant Mike shook his head to hold back the laugh. “Only Farrell never got around to raising his damn barrel, and there’s these two, smokin’ .38 holes in his friggin’ leg. Entrance and exit!” Sergeant Mike slapped the counter, and all the soldiers were laughing, the younger ones shaking their heads.

Leo stepped up to wait his turn. He could see the river through the office windows in the back. From here the sandbags looked pretty thin in front of that wide water. He thought about Toby, Rex, and Jim in his mother’s bowling alley in Texas so many years ago. A toilet flushed and Officer Petrucci stepped out of the men’s room behind the counter gate.

“I came to tell you something,” Leo said to him.

“Shoot, Leo.”

One of the soldiers laughed from the bench.

“Chick Donovan came out of his coma.”

“That’s right, I saw him this morning.”

“They let you see him?”