EpilogueFor the next several days, Bass did the paperwork. He did Macky’s too, filling in as many of the blanks as he could with generic information, leaving the appropriate lines empty for Macky to add to on his own.
Later in the week, on another sultry August afternoon, he met Lucille under one of the umbrella tables outside the bar, and the two walked over to the river.
Bass leaned forward, putting both forearms on the railing. Lucille clutched her purse and drink in one hand as she lighted her cigarette. Her hips pressed against the railing to steady herself.
“I was wrong about one thing,” Bass said. “He did try to fight back.”
“Because he bit the guy’s hand? His last chance to hold on to life was to bite another human being? That’s not very inspiring.” Lucille puffed on the cigare
