the hell are you all talking about?  Horses, limping jockeys, Cuban cigars, bootleg rum, Betty blowing up, crazy smuggling pilot friends surfing in a plane.  For Chrissakes we were almost killed.  They were shooting live bullets at us.  You, me, the pie.  You all may see this as an everyday kind of thing, but me, me, I’m new to someone wanting to kill me for no reason other than I ate three pieces of pumpkin pie.” I think I was frothing at the mouth. Angel rubbed and patted my back the way a mother does to calm an infant.

“Kid.”

It was too much.  Pushing the seat forward I forced Loretta in to the dash board.  Shoving the door open I jumped out of the car in to a puddle.  All I could think of to say was, “shit. Double shit.”...

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