She blew smoke out and stared up at him. “What the hell does it matter to you? You’re not from here. You don’t know us. And just because you helped Willie doesn’t mean I have to answer your damn questions.”

“I thought you might want to help me, in case someone is trying to kill your son.”

“Mister, no one is trying to kill Willie.”

“But seeing as how he almost died and he says the drug that almost did him in he didn’t take. Well, it does make you wonder.”

She glanced at the wall of large boxes stacked a half dozen high and ten across. “I got a lot of work to do.”

“Right. You want some help? I hire out cheap.”

“I think you need to leave. Right now.”

Stone turned and walked out.

As soon as he’d left another door opened and Judge Dwight Mosley walked slowly into the room. His tie was undone and his shirtsleeves were rolled up.

“Shirley, was someone here? I thought I heard you talking.”

“Just to myself, Judge. Just to myself. You know how I get sometimes.”

“Yes, I know.” He smiled and went back through the door.

Shirley puffed on her cigarette, staring thoughtfully at the wall.

Chapter 46

CHAPTER 46

JOE KNOX LAY in his underwear on a thin piece of puffed-up nylon masquerading as a mattress while he tried to connect the dots. Carr had killed a deuce, a mighty prominent deuce, and hit the road after slipping past the feds disguised as a bushy-bearded, gimp-legged village idiot. He’d gotten sidetracked on the train and ended up in this cluster of shacks. Where he was now, Knox had no clue. By asking around he’d discovered that the bus had headed out the very night the man had gotten to town, lucky, lucky him. By now, he could be pretty damn far away.

He sat up, jerked on his pants, socks and his Timberlands. He washed his face, finger-brushed his teeth and smoothed down his hair with the palm of his hand. If he was going to be on the chase much longer, he’d grab some clothes and toiletries other than the small travel bag he always carried with him. He slipped on his shirt and checked his cell. No messages, though the bars were looking a little jumpy at this altitude in the middle of nowhere.

Hayes was the show-runner on this dramatic piece; Knox his faithful attack dog. Well, the “faithful” part was in serious doubt right now. Knox chewed some gum and stared out the window of Skip’s Motel. Checking in last night he’d actually run into said Skip, an ancient man who said little, but his hand had shot out for the cash that was required to stay here with the jab speed of a welterweight in his prime. Old Skip apparently did not believe in the merits of consumer plastic.