The truckstop where Hogg finally turned in had maybe half a dozen cabs with their vans parked over the gravel between the gas pump and the all-night diner.

“This ought to do it, if anything does,” Hogg grunted, yanking back on the break. He looked at Denny. “We’re over a hundred-fifty miles out of state. Most of the folks around here probably never even heard of Crawhole … except for on the radio tonight.” Hogg sat back in the seat; the shadow from the top of the windshield slid down over his eyes. “Okay, now: What’s your name.”

“Huh?” Denny started a little, looked at Hogg; he hadn’t really been listening. “Dennis …” he said. “Denny Harkner.”

“Naw, it’s—” Hogg dropped his head a moment to gnaw at his thumb: “It’s Bo Jonas. Bo is short for Beauregard. Can you spell Beauregard?”

Denny frowned. “B-o-r-r …”

“It’s short for Bobby,” Hogg said. “You can spell Bobby.”

“B-o-b- …” Denny frowned again: “… y.”

“That’s right: Bo Jonas. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Denny said. “Un-huh.”

“You come from Plattsburgh, New York,” Hogg said, “and you’re hitchhiking to see your Aunt Ruth Jonas down in Lakeland, Florida.”

He looked out the window. “Lots of fruit haulers when their carryin’-licenses lapse, come by this way ’cause they’re scared of the big highways—Now what’s your name? And where’re you goin’?”

“Eh … Bo Jonas,” Denny said. “Bobby … And I’m going to Florida … where in Florida?”

“Lakeland. That’s about fifty miles east of Jacksonville.”

“Yeah. Lakeland. And I’m coming from Plattsburgh. To see my aunt.”

“Ruth Jonas,” Hogg said. “There’s a big Air Force base in Plattsburgh, and it’s just twenty miles south of the Canadian border, across from Montreal.” Hogg dug in his shirt pocket and took out the money. “Here’s your dough from yesterday. Put it in your pocket, close your fly, and keep your hands off your pecker.”

“Yeah.” Frowning, Denny took the money and tried to slip it in his own shirt pocket. Starch stuck the square of cloth to the cloth beneath and he had to slide two fingers in and then spread them to get it open. He put the money in. There was a button on the top of the pocket and he closed it. “Okay. Yeah, all right.”

“Your pants cuffs rolled up?”

Denny nodded. “I wish I had some shoes.”

“They’ll just feel sorry for you and give you a ride that much faster.”

Denny took the door handle, then looked back. “I don’t want nobody feelin’ sorry for me. I’d kill a motherfucker for that.”

“That’s all right,” Hogg said; but he gave me a half-disgusted look and shook his head. “You just get on out of here.”