bodies curved around each other in semiprivate nooks and crannies.

 

The two men hung their jackets on hooks on the wall and went directly to the

bar. They were both big-bellied men with huge, callused hands and trim beards.

Their hardscrabble lives were bolted onto every inch of them.

 

One of them had a knife in a holder on his belt. The other was armed only with a

smile and hands that groped any woman who came within striking distance.

 

Rogers went to the bathroom. When he came back out he moved over against the

wall to allow a group of drunken women to pass by on their way to the ladies’

room to fix their makeup and perhaps their reputations.

 

His hand snuck into first the right and then the left pockets of the men’s

jackets. He cupped the car keys, watched the dancing for a bit, and then left.

 

He got into the van, started it up, and pulled off. He stopped outside of town

to change out the plates.

 

He had already checked the van for distinguishing marks. There were none. It was

relatively new. There were a million just like this one.

 

The name on the registration was Buford Atkins.

 

Well, Mr. Atkins would have to find new wheels.