Blake made his voice soft. “Now, the first rule of carrying money is always be touching your money. Always. Understand?”

“Why do you want me to carry it?”

“Repeat the first rule back to me, Coot.”

“Always be touching your money.”

Blake cupped his ear. “How often should you be touching it?”

“Always.”

Blake grinned. “Second rule is don’t let nobody else touch it, never. Especially not a friend. Lotta friends in this life will do you wrong, Coot. It’s just human nature. They don’t mean nothing by it. People is just people, and people can be so cruel.”

Then Blake smacked Coot’s shoulders. He gave Coot a big look, with the weight of pride behind it. “I love you, Coot. And you deserved that blamed bat. I’m only sorry I couldn’t get it for you.”

“Blake, shouldn’t you be the one to carry the money? I don’t think I’m—”

“You’re a brave kid, brother. Bravest I ever knowed . . .”

Something was very wrong, Coot could feel it in the air.

The bus driver stepped off the bus and hollered. People fit in last goodbyes. Men kissed women, children hugged mothers. People hurried onto the bus.

The driver exchanged a look with Blake. Blake only nodded at the man.

“C’mon,” said Blake. “We gotta bus to catch.”

When they reached the door, Blake stopped walking. He tousled Coot’s hair and said, “Coot, you go ahead and get us a good seat. I gotta use the john.”

The engine fired. The bus brakes creaked.

“Hurry, Blake.”

Blake winked at Coot. “I’m right behind you.”

Coot boarded the bus. He walked the narrow aisle toward a seat in the rear. He placed the brown bag beside himself. An old man walked by and tried to sit next to Coot, but Coot waved him off. The old man mumbled something when he walked away. Another passenger tried to sit beside Coot. A woman with a toddler.

“Sorry,” said Coot. “Seat’s taken.”

The woman said, “You can’t reserve seats on a bus, kid. Ain’t the way it works.”

“My friend’s in the bathroom.”

The woman stormed off and took her toddler to the back of the bus.

After a few moments, the bus driver threw the vehicle into gear.

“Wait,” Coot shouted. “My friend is still in the bathroom!”

Coot could see the driver’s face in the large rearview mirror. The bus driver’s eyes were solemn. “I’m really sorry, kid,” he said. “Really sorry.” He pulled the doors shut and gunned the engine.

Coot shot forward, toting the leather bag in both hands, stomping down the center aisle. He fumbled past the passengers, knocking the bag against them on his way to the front. “Stop! My friend’s still out there!”