So we drove all the way here and got our room. We didn’t know anyone, weren’t supposed to do anything except find the guy and take what we came for. We couldn’t even do that. Frank wouldn’t do anything now, not until he figured out the horse. The day had started out one way and now here we were wasting time while Frank figured on the dead horse. It wasn’t a sign; he didn’t think that way. Frank was a smart guy, maybe the smartest guy I knew, but that was part of the trouble. He could think himself into things that weren’t necessarily so. Maybe it was a cop’s horse, so what? It doesn’t mean the cop knew anything about us. But the cops will be all over the street outside the hotel, Frank argued. Maybe they’ll want to talk to everybody around, talk to us. We’ll check out then. Move to a different place. That’s the worst thing we could do, Frank said.

“So what do you want to do?”

—

Maybe I started this the wrong way. You might have the wrong idea about Frank and me. I have no complaints with him, in fact, just the opposite. I wouldn’t be where I am without Frank, wouldn’t have anything if it wasn’t for him. He has his faults and eccentricities, but fewer than most, really. He’s made his share of mistakes, but made fewer than I have, and has kept me from making plenty more. He brings more to the job than I do and doesn’t expect more of me than I can give. What more can you ask from someone?