Rainwater enfolded the girl in his arms and bent his face to her head. He had one arm around her and a hand on her head. He caressed her hair and muttered softly, over and over again, “Mary Beth, oh, my baby, oh, my sweet child.”

“Come,” he said at last. “Let’s go home.”

He kept an arm around the girl, and she had both of hers around him, as they turned and walked to his truck. They had taken no more than a few paces when the man in the van ran over, waving his arms and shouting.

“Hey, hey, hey there, old-timer. Chigger’s gotta check in with me first, and then we gotta make a deal. You know how it is, Dad—no money, no honey; no finance, no romance.”

Rainwater stopped and, turning his head, looked over his shoulder. He stared at the man for a second. When he spoke it was in a deadly tone of voice.

“Brother, this girl is going with me, and if you make the least effort to interfere with our departure, I swear before the living God I will put you in the hospital. Now git!”

Rainwater turned his back and resumed the march to his truck. The pimp stood gaping a second as though stunned and then launched himself across the lot.

“Like hell she is,” the man yelled. “And if there’s anybody’s goin’ to the hospital, it’s you, old man. You turn loose a that girl right now!”

In a flash, Truman Rainwater scooped his granddaughter up in his arms, bounded to his truck, and, opening the door, pitched the girl inside.

“Lock the door,” he called just before turning again.

The pimp closed with Rainwater, yelling and cursing as he came. When he was within arm’s distance, Truman let fly with a long, stiff punch that set the boy on his ass.

Truman turned again and stepped to the running board of the truck. He had just inserted a key in the door when the pimp got to his feet and reached inside his jacket; I saw the pistol at the same instant that Truman Rainwater heard the click of the safety going off.

“You son of a bitch! I don’t know who you think you’re foolin’ with, but you get that girl out here this second, or I’ll blow your head off!” the man spluttered in rage and anger.

With his free hand he reached up and wiped the blood from his mouth but kept the gun trained on Rainwater.

Rainwater turned his head and gazed down on the man with a look of dismissal.

“Son, if you use that thing, you better hope to kill me quick, ’cause if not, I’ll send you to meet your maker.”

Rainwater opened the door of the truck. The pimp ran closer. I drew my pistol and, holding it at the low ready, began to close with them.