She closed her eyes and fell asleep on his chest. She seemed to be wearing a gentle smile. He twirled a strand of her hair in his hand while watching the hypnotic ceiling fan above him.

“G’night,” she whispered.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Ninety-Three
Ride with the Lord

Coot, Joseph, and J. Wilbur Chaplain sat in the back seat together. They rode through the early light with the sunrise ahead of them. J. Wilbur wore a white linen suit with a high collar and brass cuff links. J. Wilbur was a man who had an endearing commonness to him. He seemed perpetually relaxed. Even after Joseph had threatened to gut him like a “godless trout”—Joseph’s exact words—the man was easygoing.

Somehow Coot had managed to get the gun away from Joseph and convince the most famous man in America that they were not lunatics. Not entirely. And in only a few minutes, Chaplain had agreed to help them. They piled into the man’s car and shot through the dark until the sun began to rise.

The morning scenery passed them at slow speeds. J. Wilbur Chaplain looked out the window. “You know, Coot, I used to be a professional ballplayer.”

Coot was jolted from his thoughts. “A ballplayer?” he said. “You?”

J. Wilbur seemed almost surprised by Coot’s response. “Didn’t your father ever talk about me?”

Coot cringed at the usage of the word father.

“They called me Lulu the Lefty. I was a sidearm man.” J. Wilbur showed his left hand to Coot. “I was one doozy of a left-handed pitcher. They offered me two thousand a year to play in Saint Louis, and I almost took it too.”

J. Wilbur looked out the window. He was lighthearted and easy. Coot respected him for this alone. Coot himself was a passionate man who had a habit of worrying about everything.

“I went to this revival outside Atlanta,” J. Wilbur went on. “In a big tent. I was only there because of a girl I liked. She wanted to go.” J. Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I thought she was as hot as an oven mitten. So I went.”

Joseph had already fallen asleep beside Coot. He could feel Joseph’s heavy breathing on his neck and smell his deadly mule breath. He adjusted Joseph’s position so the old man’s mouth would be aimed in the opposite direction.

“A girl?” said Coot.

“I’d never even set foot in a church before, if you can believe it.”

“Really?”

“As I live and breathe,” J. Wilbur said. “A girl will make you do strange things, son. Make you forget all about what you hold to be common sense.”

“So I’ve heard.”