Firing around the trailer’s far end, he arm-wrapped the old man’s throat, dragged him clear of the dogs, and yanked the gun from his grasp. The hunting cap went airborne and landed in the dirt.

The dogs flew into a frenzy.

Terrified, I backpedaled as fast as I could.

Confused and enraged, Rocky and Rupert alternated between lunging at Galimore and me, muscles straining, saliva stringing from their gums and jowls.

“Call them off!” Galimore’s command barely carried over the furious barking.

A gagging sound rose from the old man’s throat.

“Sit them down or I shoot them!”

“Break.” Barely above a whisper.

Galimore released the old man. He doubled over, coughing and spitting.

The dogs grew even more frantic.

The old man straightened and tried again, louder, one trembling hand extended toward his animals. “Break.”

The dogs dropped to the ground, bodies tense, eyes on their master, clearly dubious about his directive.

“What’s your name?” Galimore demanded.

“Eugene Fries.” The old man’s Adam’s apple seemed ready to pop out of his throat. “This is my place. You got no right to bully me.”

“You were pointing a shotgun at the lady’s heart.”

“I weren’t gonna shoot no one.”

“You had me fooled. Her, too.”

No shit. The lady’s heart was still hammering against her ribs.

The old man leaned over and hawked an impressive gob.

Galimore cracked open the Winchester. Seeing it was unloaded, he snatched up the hunting cap and smacked it back and forth against one thigh.

“Got a couple of questions for you, Mr. Fries.” Galimore parked the cap on the bald old head. “Then we’re on our way.”

Fries said nothing as Galimore urged him in my direction, staying carefully outside the reach of the dogs.

Fries’s eyes rolled to me, then refocused on Galimore. Still on edge from the dogs and the gun, I let Galimore do the talking.

“We’re interested in two kids who went missing from the Charlotte Motor Speedway back in ’ninety-eight. Cale Lovette and Cindi Gamble. You know who I’m talking about?”

“I know what you’re talking about. Never knew either one of ’em.”

“You stated that you served Gamble and Lovette at a concession stand around eight p.m. the night they disappeared. Is that correct?”

Fries nodded.

“How did you know it was them?”

“The cops showed me pictures. Lovette was easy to remember because of the tats.”

“A lot of guys get inked.”

“OK. I knew of Lovette by reputation.”

“How’s that?”

“He was tight with a bunch of militia types. Word was they were real bad actors.”

Galimore thought about that. Then, “You know Grady Winge?”

“He’s an idiot.”

“According to Winge, Gamble and Lovette left the Speedway around six that night.”

“Like I said, Winge’s an idiot.”

“How could you be so certain about the time?”

“I was checking the clock.”

“Why was that?”