“Just a car. They all look alike.”
“Did it have a colour?” Dutch asked.
“Uh, well, it was a dark car.?
“Verdammt,” Dutch said.
“Black?” the Stick asked. “Two-door, four-door?”
“Tol? ya, it was dark. Coulda been—” He stopped and thought hard for several seconds. “Blue, right?
Sure enough, in the dark there, see, coulda been blue. Dark green, maybe. .
He hunched up his shoulders, coughed, shivered, and did a little jig. Something under the stack of rags
he was wearing was gnawing on him.
“Anybody know what?s he talking about?” Dutch said.
“Maybe he thinks it?s a test,” Salvatore said.
“Somethin? else,” J. W. Guttman said, when he had regained his breath.
“Don?t make me beg,” Dutch said.
“Had funny wheels.
“Funny wheels,” Dutch said.
Guttman nodded vigorously. “That?s right.”
“What kind of funny wheels?” Dutch asked, and, turning to me, said under his breath, “I?m beginning
to feel like a straight man for this old fart.”
“Big floppy wheels. I could hear them... flop, flop, flop, up there on Pelican.”
“What the hell?s he talkin? about?” the Stick asked.
“Beats me,” said Dutch. “Floppy wheels, huh, J. W.?” “Popeta, popeta, popeta. That?s what it
sounded like.” “Maybe somebody had a flat,” I suggested.
Socks smiled grandly, a man suddenly thrust into the limelight
by tic-tic-tic and popeta, popeta, popeta.
“That?s it?” said Dutch.
“It was dark,” J. W. Guttman whined.
“I know it was dark,” Dutch snapped.
The little man cowered.
“Five people get blown away and the best witness we can muster up is a whacked-out dipso,” Dutch
said, shaking his head. “Go back to your bench, Mr. Guttman.”
“Socks.”
“Socks.” Dutch started to walk away and Socks grabbed his sleeve. “Look, Cap?n, how „bout takin?
me in, maybe you could, uh, book me for like a material witness. Cap, I ain?t had a square meal since
