Henry took the four one-dollar bills from his change and started to hand them to Audrey but stopped himself mid way. He drew them back, then took one of the twenties and handed it to her instead. “What’s this for?” she accepted money from people all day long, and when Henry handed her the twenty, she took the bill almost out of instinct.

“It’s a tip,” Henry nodded. “I know what it’s like to have to work hard for a dollar.”

“I can’t take this,” she protested.

“You already have,” Henry smiled. “Thank you for the breakfast.” He tipped his hat ever so slightly, nodded his head and turned for the door, jamming the wad of bills she just handed him deep down in his jeans pocket.

“Wait,” she said, opening a drawer under the counter. “There’s something here, somewhere.” She dug around in the drawer, shuffling small pieces of paper around, pulling one out and looking at it, then putting it back and shuffling again. She did that several times before she found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she pronounced. She came out from behind the counter and handed Henry one of the small pieces of paper. “These folks were in here a while back. I think they were delivering some horses to the Wiley place or something. Anyway, they said they were looking for help. They were from down south somewhere. Grant, I think.” She glanced at the piece of paper she had just given Henry. “Yup,” she pointed at the bottom of the paper. “Grant. I don’t think it was a cattle outfit, though. Sounded like they just ran horses.”

“Horses?” Henry said almost under his breath. “Why not? I sure ain’t had much luck with cattle lately.”

“Well, there you go then.” Audrey smiled, putting her hands on her hips. “I hope it’s of some help.”

“It is,” Henry smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Audrey held up the twenty-dollar bill Henry had given her. “Thank you.”

Henry nodded, took one last look around at the photos on the wall, the bear and moose, and the wooden counter with the stools squatting in front of it, tipped his hat again, and left the Teamster Café with the little bell on a spring above the door ringing goodbye.

CHAPTER 11

It was a dull, incessant pounding that started at the base of his skull near his spine then rolled forward until it crashed mercilessly into his forehead, causing a devastating pain to radiate through his eyes, cheekbones and sinuses. As he struggled to roll himself over in the bed of his old pick up truck and push himself up on his hands and knees, he couldn’t be sure if it was the pounding in his head that woke him or if it was the nausea. Either way, he had made it through another night, albeit unceremoniously by the way he was feeling.

He rolled over and slid his backside underneath himself to get to a sitting position. He shielded his bloodshot eyes from the early morning sun with his beat up cowboy hat that he had been using as a pillow, and did what he had always tried to do on mornings like this. He tried to brush the alcohol shroud aside and put together the events of the previous day—and night. It was harder to concentrate than normal due to the fact that for the first time in a long time, he thought he might actually throw up.