“Who’s that on the front page?” she asked the man who was holding the paper.

“Depends on who you ask,” the man said. “Some folks think he’s Jesus Christ.”

“What about you?” she said. “What do you think?”

“Don’t ask me. I was born Catholic.”

Ninety
The Persuader

“This is a stupid idea,” said Joseph, who was eating from a can of pork and beans.

“If you have a better one,” said Coot, “I’m all ears.”

Joseph sighed. “I don’t see why we can’t just leave town like the lucky crooks we are.”

“No. I gotta do something.”

Coot wheeled the truck into the train depot fast enough to kick up a cloud of dust. The place was almost vacant. Coot had expected to see a crowd of people, but there was nobody.

“Coot, this is grabbing at straws. You can’t do nothing about a bunch of religious nuts on the courthouse steps. You’re just one man.”

“Those men wanted to kill her.”

“But they didn’t. See? God provides.”

“She needs our help.”

“Sometimes you just hafta know when to give up, kid. This is one of those times.”

“Then give up,” said Coot. “You wanna tuck tail? Fine. I’m not, not until she’s safe.”

J. Wilbur Chaplain’s railcar was plain looking, dark green, with faded paint. Coot had expected something fancier. The car sat on the tracks, just behind a peanut field. It was so calm it made Coot feel jumpy.

“This place is empty,” said Coot. “I wonder where everyone is.”

“Beats me,” said Joseph. “Probably on the courthouse steps, roasting weenies and reading the book of Revelation.”

The windows of the railcar glowed orange in the night. The shades were drawn, but Coot could see the shadows of figures in the car, moving from side to side.

Coot watched a man open the back door to the caboose. The man lit a cigar. Coot saw the ember glow in the dark.

“You stay here if you want,” said Coot. “I’m going to go . . . go do something.”

“Go do what?” said Joseph with a mouthful of beans.

“I don’t know,” said Coot. “I’ll improvise. If all else fails, I’ll start crying.”

“Crying? Have you lost your marbles? What kind of a man are you?”

“I ain’t really gonna cry. I’m gonna fake cry.”

“That’s your big idea? You come out here to the middle of nowhere just to work up some phony tears? You’re outta your mind.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

Joseph said nothing. He only shrugged and shoveled more food into his mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re eating at a time like this,” said Coot. “I thought we agreed you would never eat beans again after the last time.”