Nimec breathed deeply and slowed the car.

"I don't know," he said. "But you see the guy in the green shirt?"

She glanced over at him, reading his face. "Pete, don't tell me."

Nimec breathed again.

"Tom Ricci," he said.

She looked outside again, rolling down her window to try and hear what the shouting was about.

Unable to pry him away from the truck, the thickset deputy had switched tactics and moved in on Ricci, throwing his greater weight against him, getting him in a clinch. Standing his ground, Ricci caught him on the cheek with two quick overhand punches, then followed through with a right uppercut to the jaw. The deputy rocked backward on his heels, breaking his hold, his Smokey the Bear hat sailing off his head to the ground, where it flipped over once and then landed beside the broken sunglasses.

"You crazy son of a flatlander bitch!" he shouted, spitting blood. "I'm tellin' you, move away from that door or you're gonna be in deeper shit than you already are!"

Ricci stood there looking at him, hands balled into fists. The warden he'd pinned in the door squirmed a little, and Ricci kicked him in the back of the shin with his heel. A string of curses gushed from inside the cab.

Ricci seemed to pay no attention to them. Nor were any of the men yet paying attention to the Chevrolet that had eased to a halt some ten yards down the road.

"I already explained how it has to work," Ricci told the deputy. "I get to keep my product, your boy Cobbs gets to pull his ass out of the air. Otherwise we can all stick around here from now till Saint Swithen's Day."

The deputy wiped his mouth, glanced at the red-flecked saliva on his hand, and spat again.

"You got balls," he said, glaring. "Givin' me orders, expectin' me to believe some concoction about--"

"The catch is legit, Phipps."

"Says you. As Cobbs tells it, you 'n' your crackpot tender were way out past your zone."

"We can talk about Dex later. You and Cobbs saw my license."

"But I didn't see where your boat was, or where you was divin', or where you come up, and besides, that's all his area of respons'bility." Phipps poked his chin out at the pickup. "You let Cobbs be 'n' leave us the totes without any more carryin' on, maybe I let you slide for assaultin' an officer."

"Two officers! Don't you let the wicked fuck forget about me, Phipps!" Cobbs shouted from inside the cab. His head was still wedged beneath the steering wheel. "Don't you goddamn let him--"

Ricci kicked Cobbs with the heel of his boot again and his sentence ended in a yelp of pain.

Phipps released a heavy sigh.

"Two officers," he said.

"Two crooked officers."

Phipps frowned indignantly.

"That's it, no more crap from you," he said, dropping his hand to his holster and bringing out his side arm, a .45 Colt automatic.