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“Close range shot into the left temple,” I said. “Could be the victim was in a car. Shooter is talking to him through the window and raises his gun. Bang. He leans in and fires the second shot. Then he picks up his shell cases and he leaves.”
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WE WALKED DOWN TO THE CONVENIENCE STORE. SAT SIDE by side at the empty counter, near the window. I sat at the same place the pale Mrs. Kliner had used when I was in there the day before. That seemed like a long time ago. The world had changed since then. We got tall mugs of coffee and a big plate of donuts. Didn’t look at each other directly. We looked at each other in the mirror behind the counter.
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“Paul Hubble,” a voice said. “How may I help you?”
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“Where the hell are we going?” I said.
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“I’m not a vagrant, Finlay,” I said. “I’m a hobo. Big difference.”
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“It’s you, me and Roscoe,” I said. “Right now, the only safe thing is to assume everybody else is involved.”
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