“I take them and bluegill.”

And Hunter tells her, “We’ll take bluegill, the puppies, and fries and coleslaw too.”

Jotting everything down, Felicia tells them, “Ketchup and tartar?”

“Sounds good,” Hunter says.

“Got it. Like I said, Orville should be firing it up in about an hour. I’ll double-check before I get your drinks out.”

“Appreciate it, dear,” Sid tells her.

Turning away from the bar, Hunter feels every eye in the place following him and Sid to Nugget and Itch. An older guy in overalls, nursing a watered-down whiskey, raises it to Sid as he approaches.

Sid smiles. “Well, I’ll be dipped in shit! How goes it, Archie? I thought you’s dead.”

“Lies,” he says, grinning. “I’m still kicking. If Charlie couldn’t kill me, civvy life sure as shit can’t.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re sucking wind up here on the surface like the rest of us. Thought for sure I missed your damn funeral. Been feeling like an asshole all this time for no good reason.”

Archie laughs. “Oh, don’t lose that feelin’, because you’re still an asshole—just not for that.”

The VFW hall is filling up with regulars, who all seem to know each other. The vibe is easy, familiar.

“What you been up to?”

“For starters, I had me some breathing issues. Went to get checked out. Doc found I had some blockage, so I had to get me a stent. Added another pill to my collection.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so I’s laid up for a week or better. Had to go up through my damn groin. About the most I been touched in the past ten years or better—only it wasn’t none too exciting.”

“I suppose not. Remind me to try and avoid that little procedure.”