The next day they cut across country, hiking until they found a road. From there they thumbed a ride into town.

Later that next evening, Julie put the kid on a bus to her real grandmother’s house in New York City, paying for the fare in cash. She’d had the presence of mind to take one stack of bills and stuff them into her purse the night before. And by the time she met me, all she’d had left were three pathetic-looking hundred dollar bills.

She ran from Childress, Texas, and into the arms of Carpin’s chief enemy, Ernest Neil, a hundred miles east of Austin.

Jake and Freddie tracked her there and Jake killed Ernest Neil with a bullet to the head at three-hundred yards. It was impossible to know whether or not he’d been aiming at Julie or at Ernest. I had it figured that in the moment he had her lovely head and face in the cross-hairs of his sniper-rifle, Jake couldn’t bring himself to do it. Whether from misplaced affection, unrequited, or from anger, I believe he moved the cross-hairs a few hundredths of a degree, took careful aim at Ernest Neil, and fired.

When she was finished with her story, she sat there for a time, drying her eyes.

I picked up Jessica and set her down on the bed next to Julie. She was a darling kid and her eyes seemed to watch my every move.

“You watch out for her, will ya, kiddo?” I said. “I’ve got to check on Hank.”

“Okay,” she said, and smiled.

“Mom,” I heard her say as I walked around the curtain and across the floor. “Everything is gonna be great.”

“I know, honey,” Julie said.

I had been warned.

The doctor had said he might not wake up for some time. That he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

I was just sitting there in his room watching little green blips of light surf peaks and valleys, each peak accompanied by that damned sound that means the same thing in any language. I watched my friend’s heart beat. Watched him breathe.

I haven’t had many close friends in my life. I think exactly three. If that was true, then Hank was definitely one of them.

Two hours and just a little over, before he awoke.

I watched nurses pass by out in the Critical Care Ward. Then I heard a “hmm.”

It was Hank. He was looking at me. There was no telling how long he’d been watching me. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d looked up at his face. Really, I had had one hell of a night myself.

I stood up, walked over to him.

He tried to raise his hand toward me.

I took his hand in mine, two old buddies meeting after a long absence and just shaking hands.

“Don’t try to talk,” I told him. “You took one in the lungs.”

“Julie? The little girl?”

“They’re fine,” I said. “None the worse for wear.”

He shook his head.

“Dingo?” he asked.

“Hey. You don’t listen, do you? You’re supposed to shut up.” I suppose the relief on my face was not enough to discourage him.

“Tell me,” he rasped.

“Dingo’s gonna be fine. She’s at a veterinary clinic down the block. Feds took her there. She took a bullet through the neck, but she’ll live. Her bark will never be the same, though.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Either one of us.” His voice was a breathy wheeze, like a teakettle that was trying to come to a boil. He coughed once, softly. It was a weak cough, but it was a sound that I didn’t like.

“Easy, Cowboy,” I said. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

His eyes were on mine. “I’m gonna be fine,” he said. “But… I do have to tell you-”

“What?”

“McMurray.”

“Oh,” I said.

Hank nodded.

“The IRS guy. Hank, you don’t have to tell me,” I said. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t anyway. To tell the truth, I don’t think I can stand the thought of you going from a hospital to a jail.”

“I’m… too old, I think,” he said, his voice hardly better than a rasp.

“There’s no such thing as too old for prison.”

He waved a weakened hand. My turn to shut up.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly. “It was… self-defense.”

“Why would an IRS agent try to harm you?” I realized the stupidity of the question the moment it tumbled out of my mouth. “I mean physically,” I said.

“You might, too, if I had the goods on you the way I did… on him.”

Things clicked into place in my head.

“Um,” I began.

“Yeah,” he said. “Remember? I was about three million up in unpaid taxes. Even after everything settled down I had to pay in a third of that.”

“I remember,” I said.

“McMurray was the only agent who knew about it. He wanted his share… And a plane ticket to South America.”

“Okay,” I said.

“I got his demand on tape. He came after me.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said.

“‘S truth,” he said. “Remember, I disappeared for about four months. That was after. He cornered me…in the parking lot of a truck-stop in Killeen. Pulled a gun. I grabbed for it. Got a bullet through my shoulder, but not too bad. The next bullet… Murray ate.”

“Jesus, Hank,” I said. “What-I’m not sure I want to know this… But what did you do with the body?”

“Bottom of… Lake Belton. Wrapped a tow-chain around him. I let the bottom-feeders have him.”

“You still got that tape?”

“Yep,” he said. “Made copies. The original was in the glove-box of my Ford. I reckon the government has it now.”

I thought about it. We’d left Hank’s Ford Fairlane parked across the street from Julie’s demolished duplex, along with Dock’s dead body.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure they have it.”

“Yeah. It’s what Agents Bruce and Cranford didn’t mention. They’ll be asking about it soon.”

He coughed again, this time it didn’t sound good at all.

“Okay,” I said. “That’s enough. Time to shut up. I mean it.”

He tried to speak again.

I leaned forward, putting my ear close to his mouth.

“Bill,” he wheezed. “I was… supposed to remind you…”

I turned and looked at his eyes, up close.

Why did I feel like crying?

“What?”

“Bill, you did just fine.”

And that’s how I felt as I walked out into the early morning sunshine for what seemed like the first time, as if I had just been born with the rising of the sun.

Not perfect. Not apt.

Just fine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Sheriff Thornton must have been having a hell of a time keeping the reporters back and away from the scene of all the devastation we had caused. When I arrived back there about one o’clock that day in the front passenger seat of Agents Bruce and Cranford’s car, I almost didn’t recognize the place. The narrow blacktop highway leading to the ranch was lined with news trucks, jeeps and ordinary gawkers, each attempting to gain entry or get a glimpse of what was going on.

It made sense. The explosion last night had lifted us all up off the ground. It was a wonder that any one of us had lived through it, except for one thing: Hank really had known exactly what he was doing.

As we rolled over the cattle-guard-the same cattle-guard where Hank and Dingo and I had stood in the pouring rain last night-I saw two Sheriff’s deputies escorting a dejected cameraman and a young reporter with a torn dress back off the property. She held a microphone that wouldn’t be seeing any action and a broken high-heel shoe. Also she wore a priceless expression.

“Interesting effects you cause,” Agent Cranford said from the back seat.

The comment didn’t merit a reply. We trundled on up the driveway and wound through the low hills and around back. I looked to the left. All the windows on that side of the house were shattered. Also, the house appeared to have shifted some on its foundation. I wondered if it would ever be habitable again. Not that it mattered. There was no one left to live there.

There was nothing left of the stables but scattered sticks of wood and strips of tin roofing. The whole place looked as though it had been hit by a tornado. Which it had. A tornado named Hank Sterling.