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'Aw, shee-it, Grandpap. What's wrong?'

'Boy.' Grandpap wept freely, and then his Adam's apple bobbed as her swallered. 'That, I say, that is goodliest thing anyone ever done fer me in my life...'

Travis wiped a big booger in Chessy Kinney's ratty white trash hair, and he smiled with pride that he'd done somethin' ta make his grandfather so happy. 'The ways I sees it, Grandpappy, is whiles I was in the stone motel, there's was a lotta hillfolk out here who done my fambly wrong, an' like you said, when someone does ya wrong, it's only fittin' an' proper that ya do 'em wrong back. Say's so in the Bible, don't it?'

'That's right, son, it shore does. An eye fer a eye, it says.'

Travis weren't lookin' forward ta luggin' this big 250 pounds of cracker trash out ta some field, but he'd worry 'bout that later. 'An' since so many folks these parts done dag dirty things over the years ta my fambly. I say we'se gonna have ourself quite a few headers fer quite a spell. How's that sound. Grandpap?'

Grandpap's crinkled face fell to his open hands, and he cried on in sheer happiness. 'Thank ya, God! Thank ya fer blessin' me with such a fine young grandson!'

Travis nearly cried hisself seein' his grandpap so delighted. He hunched down an' slid Chessy Kinney 'cross his back. 'I'll'se be back in awhiles,' he bid. 'Gots ta dump this stinky fat cracker in the woods somewhere. I do.' he articulated. 'Hope the possums don't mind eatin' stinky redneck fat.'

........

It wasn't the thousand a month; cops on the take never lasted long. But Cummings knew he'd played it right. He'd work his way in slow, get to know the turf, the points, and the scumbags in charge of them. No way this Dutch dude was going to start him off driving huge orders of primo product. It might take a few months, but Cummings would prove his worth, and he'd keep his ears open while he was doing it. Never touch any of the bags of product, so he didn't have to worry about prints, and whenever he drove a run, he replaced his federal-issue Smith & Wesson Model 13 with his unregistered Webley revolver. If things got hot one night, and Cummings had to pop caps, he wouldn't have to worry about any ballistics striations that could be tied to his service piece. So that's how he played the gig. Eventually, he'd get wind of a big drop, and—

Well, he'd think about the rest later.

He'd set the meal tray up in Kath's lap, got her settled into the lounge chair in front of the TV. She hadn't touched any of her dinner.

'You should eat, sweetheart.' he said. 'You need your strength.'

Her tired eyes fluttered. 'Oh, honey. I'm so sorry you went to all this trouble to fix dinner. But I'm just not hungry at all. I can't eat '

'That's all right.' Cummings said. 'Maybe we should go to bed now. You look tired.'

All Kath could do, then, was nod.

He'd clean the dishes later. He picked her up, wan in her nightgown, and carried her to bed. But just as he got the covers over her, he noticed that she was crying.

'Honey?' His hand lovingly touched her cool cheek. 'What's wrong?'

She hitched and sobbed and sniffled, blinking up at him. 'Stew, I'm so sorry. I should've told you but I didn't. I know how hard you work as it is. But—'

'But. what, Kath?'

Her pretty face looked flattened when she finally told him. Dr. Seymour's putting me on another antibiotic. And it cost—it costs—oh, Stew. I'm so sorry!'

The poor girl. She was so sick, yet she didn't even have the courage to reveal the cost of the medicine that might cure her.

'It's going to cost another three hundred a month, along with what you're already paying for the others.'

Ordinarily. Cummings would've wilted. But that's not what his wife needed to see, was it? A man collapsing against the weight of a grim reality. The thousand a month he'd be raking from Dutch, plus his hooch protection for Spaz' people, would more than cover the added pharmaceutical expense. So all Cummings did was smile.

'Don't worry, sweetheart.' he was happy to be able to say. Then he lied, but it was a white lie, wasn't it? 'I finally got that promotion today.'

He knew it took all the strength she could muster to squeal with delight and wrap her thin arms around him and kiss him. Feeling her lips on his, after so long, made his heart surge, and it revitalized his love.

'Stew, I'm so proud of you.' she whispered.

Jesus, if she only knew, he thought. But that didn't matter. He was going to shake down a drug dealer. So what? He was doing the only thing he could do to help his wife.

'Baby,' she hushed, pulling at him. 'I know I've haven't been much of a wife these past months, and—'

'Don't say that! You've been sick. It's not your fault.'

'—and I know I'll get better soon, and I'll make it up to you. But right now—' Her voice turned sultry, her whisper drenched with passion. 'Right now—' Her hands fell hot on his neck. 'Right now... I want you to make love to me.'

Cummings nearly ejaculated in his pants at the words. He loved her so much, and it had been so long. But he also knew that her words were pre-emptory. She was too sick. She'd never be up to it.

'I want to too, honey, but you need your rest,' he said, and it wasn't easy, not after masturbating in the bathroom or in the car for six months. But how considerate would that be? Climbing on top of his sick wife? 'You're going to get better real soon. I know you will, especially with this new medication. Then we're going to go on a second honeymoon that'll knock your socks off!'

'You're such a wonderful man' she murmured, but already she was falling asleep.

Cummings went back downstairs, washed the dishes, cleaned up a little. He cracked open another beer and changed channels to the Yankees' game— when the phone rang.

'It's fuckin' 10:30 at night! he objected.

'Cummings.' he said into the phone.

'Yeah. Stew, look, I been out here two hours, man, and I'm dog hungry.'

It was Chad Amburgy, the night man. Decent kid, if a bit redneck. Done Cummings several favors.

'Out where?' Cummings asked.

'Kohl's Point. I was on reglar patrol, gonna check out McKully's old haunts, see it he was putting back anymore stills, when I saw it. so I radio'd the state.'

Cummings blinked, shook his head. 'Saw what. Chad?'

A crackling static pause; Amburgy had obviously radio'd the state dispatcher and rerouted the trans through the phone, via a landline hookup. 'We got another murder out here. Stew. And gawd knows how long it'll lake these state police nimrods ta get the M.E. out here. How's about givin' me a break and bringin' me out some samwiches or somethin'. Anything, man. I'se starvin' out here.'

'Kohl's Point you say?'

'Yeah.'

'Hang tight, Chad I'll be there in twenty.'

'Thanks, man.'

Kohl's Point. Cummings thought, strapping on his gunbelt. He whipped up some quick sandwiches in the kitchen, brewed a thermos of coffee, and grabbed an extra pack of smokes.

We got another murder out here, the words echoed in his head. Christ. And then more words fluttered, like slow, black birds.

Peerce's words.

Cain't believe it. A fuckin' header.

Cummings couldn't have known, of course. Nevertheless, he was sweating pretty bad when he got into the unmarked and headed, lights on, to Kohl's Point.

........

'Thanks fer comin' out, Stew,' Chad Amburgy obliged, his stomach stressing his ATF field shirt. He plowed