: me and you...the driver gives a look with mirror....more interested in you than me.....our eyes are talking....driver is a smart guy...not so young ....put my hand in the pocket and i get off a rope ..thick one....: and i play with itthe bus ir running but ..ther is something different...it was the last run..no passengers...dark street... the bus stopsthe driver walks until us.you stand up but i get your arms and tie them in few seconds...you scream but no one there...the driver is opening. When I left, she begged me to be careful and not to trust George Howard even a little bit. She was, as my Abuela use to say, “Predicando al coro” ... she was preaching to the choir.I was considerably calmer as I walked the four blocks down to the sheriff’s office. Matt Faulkner was there, sitting behind his desk scowling. I plopped down in his side chair and pulled out a cheroot for each of us from my vest pocket. The thin, smelly, cheap stogies came from Clem the barber. I sort of liked them. More

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