"Everett," the old man cackled. "Hell, that's fifteen miles south o'here, or better." He paused, swiveled his bird-like head and spat a jet of brown juice through the open door. "Tell y'what, son, seein's how you'll have t'walk it down there. Ain't no one goin' that way, I know of. S'pose y'could thumb it, but it'd be hard. Lonely road, y'see. If y'don't mind waitin' till after supper, I'll run y'down to town. Drop y'off where y'want to go." "Hadn't thought of waiting so long," Nick told him. "What would I do? Just sit here?" "Hell no! In th' back room there's a cot. Been sleepin' there myself sometimes, since m'wife passed along back in '53. December of '53 it was. I'll wake ye, come supper." "Thanks." With the hunger gnawing at his stomach, Nick took a cellophane wrapped pie from the counter and began eating it. He handed the old man a quarter. "S'funny," the old man said, ringing up the sale, "ye don't smell like a drunk. Ought t'be some likker smell to y'son." "I was drinking vodka," Nick countered, wondering how he had pulled that from a mind that could not remember his past. He took another bite of the pie as the old man gave him his change. "Bad stuff, vodka. That's th' slop them Russian hassocks drink, ain't it?" "I think so." "Well, it ain't for Andy Hocum. Them hassocks can have it." Nick was saved from further conversation by a new station wagon pulling into the pumps. A young woman, dressed in a suit, cut the engine and honked the horn briefly. Andy waved and headed for the door. "Get some shut eye, son. I'll wake y' later." "Thanks, Andy." He finished the last of the pie and watched Andy stick a hose into the wagon's gas tank, then go around front to wipe off the windshield. Nick cleared the pie wrapper off the small counter and tossed it into a box as he headed for the backroom. After closing the door, he fell onto the bed and a moment later into the well of sleep. CHAPTER TWO Detective Lieutenant Nolan Brice braked the Fairlane at 2312 Weisman Drive and got out quickly. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether Beth Danson would be awake, but it was a long drive into headquarters and he didn't want to go back to a dismal office, or even a lonely bachelor apartment. He glanced at his watch. 9:30. He shrugged and decided to try it. She answered his knock almost at once, smiling him into the front room. For a moment, he allowed his eyes to finger her body, letting them spear through the wrap around robe and the flimsy nightgown to where warm flesh ebbed and flowed against the sigh of silk. Her brown hair was bed-tangled and most of the makeup was gone from her face, but Beth Danson was a woman who had the unconscious ability to look beautiful under any circumstances. Nolan felt a thunder in his veins as he tossed his hat on the sofa. "Coffee, Nolan?" she asked.