I hear you’re building a place for yourself.  Outside of town.  A place where a man can find a drink and other sorts of entertainment.  Now that the Klan is in mourning could be favourable to business.  Duly elected law officials back in office—why you might have friends you didn’t know you had.  Friends like me.

And what would I want from a friend like you?

I was thinking cars.


Ya…  I heard you fancy stealing them.

Suppose I do?

Why a deputy sheriff like myself might see a reward for a returned stolen car.  A reward where you might have a take.

Birger leans back.  He looks younger than he is younger than Dunby.  But that isn’t the case.

Do you believe there’s still good people in the world?

Yes… yes I do.

Then you know it ain’t about the money.  It’s about getting it.  Give people the right information they’ll do good things with it.

You think the people are getting the right information?

I don’t know.  But I might be able share with you what I know about cars.




And I knew I wasn’t never his first love but even when they politely asked him to leave after the rest of the homicides were attributed to parties unknown and he built the Shady Rest just across the county line between Harrisburg and Marion I knew and hated that dulcet hunger of having a body a woman’s body which he touched believing he touched it and no other and though I had been married to another man and had a child he kept me at a playful distance with the cold metal of his gun and I wondered I still wonder if I ever made him jealous.  So it is at times I wish I didn’t have it.  I wish I didn’t have a body could make me happy or sad healthy or sick I wish I could say no when it says sleep no when it says run walk or crawl and I believe there’s love in the world and people to love with it but damned if I don’t want this heart of mine in a time and space anchored to beat wild and say with my eyes I lust and with my mouth I covet and in this physical living presence resides all there is to decay decompose and with every turning of day into night witness this which is the pride of my life the whisper of the worms and you hear them you hear them singing to your bones don’t cry don’t you cry no more and so it comes it comes the time where in the self aware that gives us our soul I say I have to say:  O the hell with it—I must be scorned…