“He was walking south when he came to my house,” Terrence told Glenn, who now sat beside him in the passenger seat of the Camaro. “I figure that if he’s still on the road, then he is still heading south, in the direction of John’s Mistake.”
Glenn leaned back and looked out the windshield, at the road that was speeding beneath the car in the glare of its headlights.
“Terrence,” he said. “There is still something about this that I just don’t get. I saw that guy, and he wasn't much in the way of bein’ a badass. He looked like some college boy from Dayton or Cincinnati, the kind of guy who would ordinarily be afraid to say boo to a local when he enters these parts. We’ve seen them before, you know, even during our high school days. Guys like that don’t come into Carey County and start fights.”
“So you’re saying that we’re just so damn country tough that nothing can touch us—is that it, Glenn? I still don’t get your point. What it is about this that you don’t understand? Look at my damn face, will you? Do you think I did this to myself?”
“No, I think that there’s something more you ain’t tellin’ me. And before I go doin’ something that could land the both of us in jail or worse, I’d like to know the whole score, that’s all. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”