“Prick,” said the man. “What’s he look like?”

Annabelle gave them a description of Knox.

“Sounds like the feller who was in here asking questions right before I finished my shift,” said the waitress as she made doodles on her order form. “He was a fed. Least he said he was. Asking questions. Didn’t like that.”

Annabelle said, “He is a fed. And I know Uncle Sam’s paying him enough to keep his kids clothed, with food on the table. Got a tip he was working on something up this way. That’s why I’m here. Tired of the man coming and going when he pleases. You think he gives a crap I can’t even afford proper meds for our son? He’s got really bad asthma. Almost died once.”

“Prick,” the jean jacket man said again as he pushed a forkful of biscuits and gravy in his mouth, and chewed with a force to match his choice of words.

“If you see him, don’t say anything,” Annabelle warned. “He’s armed and prepared to use it. Don’t get him pissed. Believe me, I’ve been on the receiving end of that.”

“Are you telling me the asshole struck you?” the jean man asked as he swallowed his mouthful and partially lifted his wide butt from his narrow seat.

Annabelle said, “Just be real careful around him, you hear me?” Every time she spoke her voice picked up more of a drawl, as though she was absorbing their twang whenever they opened their mouths. She edged him back on his stool with her hand.

“So what’s your plan?” said the waitress, obviously taking an avid interest in this little drama.

“I’m going to find his ass.” Annabelle handed her a slip of paper. “You see him, call me on this number please.”

The waitress nodded. “My old man did that crap to me too. Took me eight years but I got my money.”

“Hope I’m as lucky. Any place to stay around here?”

“Don’t go to Skip’s Motel down the street,” said the waitress, a smile playing across her lips.

“Why not?”

“’Cause that’s where he’s staying, honey. Or at least he asked for a place to crash and I told him about that one. Try Lucy’s at the other end of town. She’s got a couple nice rooms for let.”

“Thank you. Skip’s, huh?”

“You got it, sweetie.”

The waitress grabbed Annabelle’s plate off the pass-through counter and put it down in front of her. “So what’s your plan to nail the scumball, honey?”

“I brought someone with me,” Annabelle said. “He works for the government too and he specializes in bagging other feds who pull crap like this.”

“Shit,” said jean jacket man. “They got a department for that too? No wonder our taxes are so damn high.”