I passed by the CleanCut Sheriff on the way out, and the cell time must have gotten to me because I sneered at him, "Nice little racket you guys have going here."

He menaced me, blocking the hallway with his thick arm. "What did you say?"

I continued walking and he moved his arm out of the way.

"Let's go get a beer," Brian said. We walked into a mostly vacant tavern and ordered two beers. "You guys look like Beavis and Butthead," one of the barflies quipped nonsensically.

We drove to the nearest town with a motel and reserved a room. It was too late to call an attorney so we went for a bike ride. I kept sprinting up the hills out of fury. Raoul, not so practiced a cyclist, gamely did the same and wound up heaving beer foam into the steaming roadside weeds. It was hot.

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