That speech stopped all movement. Everyone gaped at him. The second man, who seemed exhausted now that Lemuel had been holding his arm for almost ten minutes, said, “I am a citizen of the free country of Stronghold, and I am not obliged to give you my slave name. My true name is Eagle. I’m a . . . I’m a soldier in the army of the Men of Liberty. You must treat me as a prisoner of war according to the Geneva Convention.”

“Damn,” said the uniformed officer, who happened to be black. “That’s pretty big talk, coming from you two. Buffalo and Eagle, huh? Those the names on your drivers’ licenses? And I’d like to know who enslaved you.”

“The false government of the United States.”

Lemuel let go of the second man, who almost collapsed. The patrolman took advantage of the moment to cuff him.

Arthur Smith dipped into the pocket of “Buffalo,” and his hand was clutching a wallet when he pulled it out. “This man’s slave name is Jeremy Spratt,” he said. “No wonder he likes ‘Buffalo’ better. Tom?”

The patrol officer extracted his prisoner’s wallet. “This here’s Zane Green,” he said. “Otherwise known as Eagle. He lives in Marthasville, it says here.”

Smith reexamined Jeremy Spratt’s license. “He’s from Marthasville, too.” He looked at Jeremy Spratt quizzically. “Now, where did your missing buddies live, Buffalo?”

“Lubbock,” Buffalo said, and immediately looked as though he’d bitten into a lemon. “Damn,” he muttered. Bobo started laughing, which made Buffalo (aka Jeremy) even angrier.

“And why did you drive thirty miles from home to hang around in an alley in Midnight? Is there something wonderful about Midnight that I don’t know?”

Both prisoners clamped their mouths shut, and that was the end of their answering questions. They were hauled off to jail in Tom’s patrol car, with Arthur Smith following behind in his own vehicle.

Lemuel vanished as quickly as he’d appeared, and Manfred wondered why his buddy Olivia hadn’t shown. Maybe she was out of town. No one else seemed to have heard the ruckus.

Manfred and Bobo thanked Creek and Shawn profusely. Creek was still twitchy with excitement, while Shawn just as clearly wanted to get rid of them.

“Time to go home,” Bobo said, and began to walk toward the pawnshop. “You coming, Manfred?” As they crossed the Davy highway, he added, “Thanks for giving me a heads-up, even if we ended up walking into the lion’s den.”

“Sure. I was real helpful,” Manfred said ruefully.

Bobo laughed. He sounded more like himself than he had since the body had been found. To Bobo, the fracas had been stimulating, apparently. Manfred was deflating like a balloon with each step he took, though.