On the same day that Manfred enlarged his knowledge of male-female relations—though hours afterward—Bobo had an entirely different sort of discussion. He’d had a genuinely busy day, as Saturdays sometimes were—especially toward the end of the month. Late in the afternoon, he’d gotten a lull for thirty minutes, and he’d sunk down into his chair for the first time since he’d opened.

Bobo had had enough work for the day—he really did need to hire a part-time assistant—so he was not pleased when two men who seemed vaguely familiar entered the pawnshop. He’d worked right past six o’clock, when he normally locked up until Lem took over at eight. It was at least seven, and dark outside.

“I’m just closing up,” he called. “You need to come back in an hour, when we reopen.” Then he recognized them as the two men who’d eaten at Home Cookin, and he was instantly sure they hadn’t brought anything to pawn. He recognized the type. They were there to ask questions, the kind of questions Bobo had fled to Midnight to avoid.

They didn’t waste any time.

“The night your grandfather got arrested,” the shorter man said, “an informant told the police he had a secret cache of rifles and a couple of bigger pieces stashed away. The cops found a lot of stuff. But everyone in his group, including my dad’s friend’s cousin, knew he had more.”

Bobo had a bitter moment. He’d been sitting in his own store, comfortable in his usual jeans and T-shirt, and he’d just set down a mug of instant hot chocolate. He’d been reading a Lee Child novel in the moments between customers. Jack Reacher was his hero. Bobo sadly wished Jack Reacher were there with him now.

Bobo was aware that he had relaxed into complacency, under the mistaken assumption that Aubrey’s disappearance was his crisis for the year. He had been foolish to believe there was a term limit on bad-shit-happening-to-Bobo-Winthrop.

The import of the shorter man’s words sank into him. If there was anything in the world Bobo disliked more than being interrupted on a pleasant day, it was hearing his own history told back to him. He understood that he was in for another hard time—probably a beating—and he sighed. He put his mug in a safer place, and he prepared himself for what was surely to come.