He didn’t get about halfway to the house when he saw a girl and a little boy come around to the Land Cruiser and open up the back hatch. As the hatch lifted up, he got a good view of the girl’s face and was at least eighty percent sure it was that outlaw TJ Byrd. Now where in the world was Miss Chastity? Dusty had been thinking on that name long and hard. Clean and pure, unspoiled little rich girl, down and dirty with the country folk. Ole Dusty would save her. Dusty and Daddy Nix to the fucking rescue. Fucking heroes for the ages. Maybe that ole boy in Fayetteville would let them trade in their old beater truck for a brand-new Silverado.

Dusty stood there, cigarette dangling loose in his right hand while he adjusted his nuts with the left. He turned back to the truck to see Daddy out of the cab now waving to him like a goddamn idiot. “Hey,” the old man said. “Hey.” Dusty waved him off, giving him hand signals so no one else could hear. Hush, old man. Hush.

Ten seconds later, there was Chastity Bloodgood herself coming out, acting of her own free will and toting a little pink bag. She looked about as steady on her feet as a newborn fawn. Nobody held a gun on her. Nobody had her tied up like he’d been expecting. Dusty figured him and Daddy would bust in with guns drawn, finding that poor little girl hog-tied and gagged like pictures of the women he’d seen on the internet. Instead, it looked to all the world like she and that TJ Byrd was friends. Hell, she even stopped to hug TJ’s neck and pat her back.

“What the gosh-dang fuck?” Dusty said, his cigarette burning down in his fingers.

The big black Land Cruiser started up, red taillights aglow, and backed out in the empty street. Dusty stood there, looking into the windshield, the Byrd girl glancing over his face and then driving off.

Dusty hobbled on back, his right knee acting up on him again, and crawled back behind the wheel.

“You ready?” Daddy asked. “Whoo-wee.”

“They’re leaving.”

“What you mean, ‘leaving’?” he said. “It’s five in the goddamn morning.”

“Miss Chastity got into that truck with TJ Byrd and some little kid,” Dusty said. “How the fuck should I know?”

“Come on, boy,” Daddy said, pointing. So excited spit flew from his mouth. “Go. Go. Follow their ass, son. We ain’t getting paid to sit around and scratch our damn nuts.”

Dusty cranked the ignition and made a sweeping U-turn in the old truck. Daddy wide-ass awake now, nibbling on some homemade jerky he’d brought along special for the trip. He slurped at the strips of meat, spit dripping down his chin.