Chapter 27
I DROVE the police cruiser down Main Street at a gentle ten miles an hour, barely above an idle, one hand on the wheel and one elbow out the window. The early summer sun burned dew off the sidewalks and grassy medians in a cool mist, leaving a fresh smell. A man in dusty denim pants and a tatty leather jacket walked briskly south, the most purposeful motion I’d seen yet. He cast more than one nervous glance at Saint Michael’s, and I steeled myself to not look that way. I didn’t need to know if one of the people who composed Acceptance watched me from the vestibule.
In front of Jack’s adopted bar, a shiny blue pickup truck with a federal diesel sticker in the rear window blocked the sidewalk, its tailgate open to the front door and front tires in the road. My stomach rumbled at
