Popeye jumped at Miss Sink again. Popeye growled. She hopped over to Miss Sink and tried to hug the old woman. Miss Sink smacked the newspaper against her hand as a warning. Popeye darted behind her owner's legs, wrapping her leash around them. She was shaking.

'It's all right, little baby.' Hammer was distressed and furious.

She squatted and put her arms around her dog and held her close. She gave Popeye another treat.

'Please don't do that again,' she said sternly to Miss Sink.

'Next time I'm going to smack her little bottom,' Miss Sink promised.

'Actually, you won't,' Hammer said in her dry don't fuck with me tone of voice.

That dog's going to bite someone,' Miss Sink chastised Hammer. 'You wait. And then won't you be in Dutch? These days people sue just like that.' She tried to snap her fingers and missed.

Popeye growled.

'Well, I've got to go in and call all the other board members. I guess telling you is the same thing as calling the police,' Miss Sink said.

She headed back down her walk, her feet loud on her Doric porch, her cat darting out from behind a hedge.

Chapter Eighteen

Despite Bubba's incredible efforts, no matter his eight.straight hours of relentless work in Bay 8, his productivity had fallen short by 3,901 cigarettes. He was devastated. It was the last night of the competition of the month, and the second month in a row that Bay 5 had claimed victory.

'Don't take it so hard,' Smudge said.

'I can't help it,' Bubba replied despondently.

They stopped outside the cafeteria and Bubba inserted his ID card into the cigarette machine, selecting the free pack all workers got daily. Bubba chose his usual Merit Ultima. Smudge did, too, and sold his pack to Bubba at the slightly discounted price of eight dollars and twenty-five cents. Smudge smoked Winstons, which were not made by Philip Morris. For the first time it bothered Bubba that Smudge didn't offer his daily allotted pack to Bubba for nothing, since it cost Smudge nothing. It bothered Bubba that it just so happened that Smudge and Gig Dan played golf together.

'I guess Gig had a long day,' Bubba commented as he and Smudge headed out of the building.

'He looked pretty tired when he left,' Smudge agreed. 'Too bad you were so late.'

'Wouldn't've been if that asshole Tiller wasn't supposedly sick again.'

Smudge made no comment.

Funny how he always gets sick on the night the competition ends,' Bubba made another casual remark.

'Maybe losing is something he can't face,' Smudge suggested.

'Also funny how nothing in my module works worth a shit the last night of the competition. Know how many times the tipping paper broke? Or how many glue bubbles I got? Had a dull knife, too. So I clean up right before shift change, and find dust in the machine and glue balled up on the glue roller,' Bubba said.

Smudge stopped at his gleaming red Suburban. He got out his keys.

'See, I think someone gets to Kennedy on first shift and sucks him into the conspiracy. So Kennedy works the first half of second shift because Tiller's called in sick, because he's been told to. Then Kennedy fucks up everything he can so when I'm supposed to come in and work one and a half shifts, I've got all this dust, glue balls and shit waiting for me.'

'Sounds rather elaborate, like a spy thriller. Don't be paranoid, Bubba.' Smudge patted Bubba's shoulder.

But it wasn't just paranoia. Bubba wasn't stupid. He knew Gig Dan was involved in the plot as well or he would have said something to somebody about how dirty the machine was. He had to have known, since he inadvertently had to fill in for Bubba because Bubba was late being early and then ended up late for being on time because Fred held him to a conversation. Bubba kept his conviction to himself as he began to see just what Smudge was really made of. Whatever it was, it was beginning to stink.

'You owe me and everyone else in Bay 5 two cases of beer, good buddy,' Smudge said as he cranked the Suburban.

'Yeah, I know,' Bubba said. 'What will it be?'

'Hmmmm. Let me think,' Smudge jerked Bubba around. 'I guess Corona.' He added insult to injury.

Corona was not a Philip Morris product, and Smudge knew Bubba would rather eat poison than spend a nickel on anything not Philip Morris.

'Okay, but you gotta give me a chance to get you back,' Bubba said.

Smudge laughed. 'Lay it on me.'

'Tomorrow night. Highest score. Let's raise the stakes higher, more than two hundred dollars," Bubba said.

Smudge's face lit up as he lit up a Winston.

'You're on. Rain or shine,' Smudge said.

Bubba thought of the leak in his Jeep and everything else Muskrat had to say about it. Bubba tested Smudge one more time this morning.

'You want me to drive?' Bubba said.

'We'll be better off in my hunting truck.' Smudge said exactly what Bubba anticipated. 'I'll drive, you can pay for gas. Meet me at my house.'

Brazil was watching out the window for West's unmarked Caprice, and every other minute, he ran back to the bathroom and wet his fingers and ran them through his slightly gelled hair, giving it that wet look, making sure one strand fell down the middle of his forehead. He had brushed his teeth four times and couldn't stand still.

When West parked in front of his house, he took his time. He waited for her to come to the door. He waited until she had knocked five times.

'Andy? Are you in there?' she said loudly.

He ran to the door and opened it, tucking in his uniform shirt, adjusting his duty belt as if he was busy with many things and running behind.

'Gosh, I'm sorry,' he said politely. 'I was on the phone.'

It wasn't quite a lie because Brazil had been on the phone. He just didn't say when he'd been on it.

'I don't have much time,' West smacked the volley back. 'We'd better go. This was probably a bad idea,' she continued as she went down the steps. 'I've got the day from hell. I'm not even hungry.'

Brazil locked the door and followed her to the car, his feelings stung again.

'It doesn't matter to me,' he said. 'If you need to get to HQ, you can go on. You don't even have to give me a ride. It's not a problem.'

'I'm already here,' she retorted.

'I'm not that hungry either,' Brazil announced.

West put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

'You should fasten your seatbelt,' Brazil told her.

'Forget it.'

'Look, I want to be able to get out of the car fast, too, if something goes down. But I don't want to be thrown out, like through the windshield. Besides, how long does it take you to unbuckle a seatbelt, if you're really honest?'

'You work the streets as long as I have, you don't have to be really honest.' She reminded him of his inexperience and her high rank.

'Have you ever been to The Forest?' Brazil asked.

'What forest?'

The neighborhood hangout on Forest Hill.'

'That's the other side of the river.'

There's more parking there than downtown where the River City Diner is.'

'Since when are we eating breakfast again? I thought we'd decided that issue,' West said.

She turned on the radio, tuning in to WRVA. Adrenaline was shorting out Brazil's central nervous system as he groped for just the right words. He had a right to know why she treated him the way she did. He had a right to know about Jim.

'I guess I'm realizing if I don't eat something now, I don't know when I will,' Brazil said, making sure she understood how busy he was, too.

'River City is closer to HQ.'

Try parking on Main Street during rush hour.'

West decided to head Southside.

'How did you find out about The Forest?' she asked as the radio broke the news of Fishsteria.

'I've been there a couple times.' Brazil's thoughts were tangled like fishing line.