“Are we invited in?” Bakker asked.

“No,” said Button.

“Harboring a fugitive from the law is a felony,” Virgil said.

“Like I said, you’re welcome to come in,” Button said. “Don’t go shooting the place up.”

“Yeah, we don’t need any home improvements,” Rose said.

—

The entire group moved to the house, but Button, Good, Rose, and the others waited in the kitchen, after pointing Virgil and Bakker to a door at the back of the house. Rose whispered, “The lock’s broken.”

Virgil tiptoed across a worn carpet, with Bakker a couple of feet behind, and tried the doorknob. It creaked, and Virgil gave it a fast twist and pushed the door open. The room contained an empty, two-tier bunk bed, a dresser supported on one side by a two-by-four that was replacing a broken leg, and an open window whose curtain was blowing gently into the room.

“He’s run off,” Bakker said, and he turned to sprint to the front door. As he took his first step, Virgil hooked his arm, put a finger to his own lips, and pointed beneath the lower bunk. Bakker stooped and looked under the bed; he could see two jean-clad knees.

“What do you want to do?” Bakker asked.

“Ask him to come out of there. Be careful, though, he could have a gun.” Virgil stooped, and said, “We can see your knees, Woody. Don’t make us drag you out.”

A couple of beats later, “Fuck you.”

Rose had walked up behind them. “What a dimwit,” she said. “Woody, did you beat Anna with a board?”

“Fuck you, Rose. Did you tell them I was here?”

“No, dumbass. Your car was sticking out from behind the shed,” Rose said.

“You got a gun?” Virgil asked.

“Fuck you.”

“You go shooting at a cop, you’re gonna die right here,” Bakker said. “Keep that in mind.”

“Fuck you.”

Virgil walked to the end of the bed, noticed that it was bolted to the wall, and peeked under the lower bunk. He could see the soles of a pair of cowboy boots a couple of feet back. “I’m going to pull him out,” Virgil muttered to Bakker. “Get your gun. If the motherfucker shoots at me, kill him.”

“Happy to do it,” Bakker said.

“Fuck both of you,” Garrett said.

Virgil reached deep under the bed, grabbed one of the boots, and began pulling. Garrett kicked at him, and Bakker shouted, “Okay, there’s another felony—assault on a police officer.”

The boot came off, and Virgil fell back on his butt. The boot stank, and he threw it in a corner. “Come out of there.”

“Fuck you.”

Virgil reached back under and grabbed Garrett’s sock-covered foot and pulled. He could get Garrett stretched out, but couldn’t move him. Bakker peered under the bed, and said, “He’s holding on to the inside leg, over in the corner . . . Give me some room.”