Friday came like a held breath.
I was at the garage before dawn, waiting. Not for the day — for the shoe to drop. Zoey's note had said Friday, the sheriff's office, a complaint against the club. The sedan outside the cabin had said the same thing in a language with no words.
Tank rode in at six, and we stood in the bay together, drinking coffee, not talking much. There wasn't anything left to say that we hadn't already said.
The deputies arrived at nine.
---
Two of them. A man and a woman, both in county brown, both with the patient, careful look of people who'd learned not to trust anything at first glance. They parked across the lot and walked in like they owned the place.
`Maxine Calloway?'' the woman asked.
`That's me.''
`We're looking for a William Maddox.''
Tank didn't move.
