Nodding in agreement, Chuck murmured that Vietnam killed anything positive or creative he may have had in him. Daryl took another sip of vodka and walked toward the window to check the activity outside. “Even after these killings tonight,” Daryl confessed, “I feel at home at the roadside. If you’re serious about moving on, I can scrape up the down payment to buy you out. Maybe the old Strassen is my calling and my salvation. There is another reason I’d like to buy this old barn. My wife will have a nervous breakdown and finally agree to a divorce. This place has my name on it, especially when they install that new Happiness Inn sign.”
Instead of replying whether I or not would sell the motel, I suggested that they go to sleep and forget Black Monday. When I returned in my apartment, Amber
