"i get off on it," she answered.

"i'm waiting uncle pork pie," sidney hollared.

"yeah yeah!" he grumbled.

"mr. anderson," lissell prompted. he looked at her. "the cigar."

"shit," he answered, then threw it out into her front yard. he snarled at lissell, then walked back to sidney's room, his head in the book.

"he's such a nice man," i said, and smiled.

"yeah, salt of the earth."

"could he be in real trouble lissell?"

"hell carlee, he already is, he rents trucks to known felons, one of the drivers is missing and presumed dead, and his business partner is on a ventilator after he throws a horse shoe at her."

"but sysco isn't dead."

"no, thanks to you, but we heard her cursing him from her death bed, what are the chances of her filing charges against him when she gets better?"

"i don't think sysco is comfortable around the police and lawyers lissell."

"that's even worse for mr. anderson, she's a hitman herself, i'm sure she has plenty of contacts."

a cop car pulled up. "hey girls, we have a lead on sidney's father," harry said.

"great, just a moment captain."

"oh, wait lissell, i want to go too," i said. "let me talk with pork for a moment." i went through to the bedroom. "you're not reading pork," i observed.

"hell honey, this english stuff bored him to sleep." pork lay next to sidney in shirt sleeves and his hat, smoking a cigar. the place smelled like a pool hall.

"we liked harry potter," i smiled and said.

"me ain't we carlee, i hated the son-of-a-bitch."

"listen pork, he went to sleep because he was tired, it's been a long day for all of us, take your shoes off and catch a few winks yourself, we're going to the police station. and put that cigar out, right now."

"alright! Goddamnit," he snorted and padded to the bathroom, muttering under his breath all the way, face as red as a beet. his shoes had to be 14's, boats.

"and calm yourself uncle pork pie, you'll have a stroke." he glared at me. "and where did you put that cigar?"

"in the fuckin' pot, you see any ash trays around here?" i walked gently to pork, held him and kissed his cheek.

"listen buddy, they may have good news about terry, we're going downtown to find out, we need some good news about terry, baby, and we've got sidney to take care of now, just you and me."

"oh, get off your fuckin' soap box, i know all that shit." he smiled at me, his complexion was lighter.

"and don't sleep in your hat," i added. lissell and harry were in the car listening to the police scanner. "very romantic," i said. "two cops spending the weekend at home." harry laughed.

"yeah, what'll it be tonight honey, quiet dinner, champagne, a bath together, or shall we drink beer and listen to the scanner?"

"very funny," lissell said.

"what have we got?" i asked.

"dunno angel, something though, the feee....ah, federals are holding a briefing in twenty minutes," harry said. hmm, harry didn't call them feebies, respect for lissell? had i missed something? lissell smiled.

terry had been spotted in arizona; mesa plains, on video tape from a convenient store. he escaped the fbi dragnet, but they were in hot persuit.

"mr. sypes was positively identified in mesa plains this afternoon at 0123, he paid cash for groceries at this convenience store, the fingerprints matched what the bureau has, the video tape confirms that mr. terry sypes is alive, and is wanted by the u.s. government," said special agent warren casebier. "our investigations find that mr. sypes highjacked a truck owned by mr. laverne anderson, loaded with an unknown amount of illegal contraband, probably narcotics, and made an exchange here." he stopped and referred to a map. "on highway 307. the cashier claimed that he drove away in a late model ford, green, and very pretty." everyone snickered. i nudged lissell in the ribs.

"he's alive," i grinned.

casebier continued. "mr. laverne anderson informs us that he rented the truck to miss sysco bolin, who is critical in a local hospital. a federal warrent has been served on her for conspiracy to commit conspiracy...what the hell does that mean?" he said to a colleague.

"ah, that's among many other charges, sir," he answered.

now, if sysco makes it, maybe i can return to the peace and quiet of the green river. will i ever be satisfied? "isn't it great lissell?" i said.

"well baby, not exactly great, when they find terry, he will be arrested for what he did, or killed by who he sold the drugs to, mr. anderson may be charged as an accessory and miss bolin is already in big trouble, and there's still little sidney. that don't exactly spell mother, carlee."

"you're so negative lissell."

she smiled. "practical love."

"whatever," i replied. "i've got to tell sidney though."

hell, it was five thirty in the morning, a cop drove me to lissel's house, she and the rest of the police force would be busy until noon. "thanks officer," i said, as i kissed his cheek.

"no problem miss, enjoyed your company."

pork pie was drinking whiskey at the kitchen table. he was dressed in black socks, his underwear and his hat. "little early isn't it?" i asked.

"five o'clock, the cocktail hour, carlee," he replied.

"it's five am, pork!"

"so, what crawled up your ass?"

"terry isn't dead," i said. he looked shocked.

"they found him?"

"no, not yet, but they will."

"did he highjack the truck and sell the goods?"

"they don't know pork, he may have, they'll have to wait until they find him."

"yeah, and shoot him, or put him behind bars."

"god, you're as negative as lissell," i said. "pour me a glass of that shit," i told him.

"no, there's coffee for you carlee, and a funny bun."

"a what?"

"in the cellophane," he answered. honey bun. alright. "baby, this still doesn't sound too good to me," he said.

"it sounds a hell of a lot better than if they found him hanging in a tree by his ankles dead, pork pie, he is sidney's dad."

"i know that sugar, i know that, hey, go tell him," he smiled, as he finished his drink.

"sidney." i shook him. "wake up honey, i've got some news about your dad."

"good news?" he asked.

"they know he's alive in arizona baby." sidney's reaction was slight, he halfway smiled.

"when's he coming home?"

"don't know yet sidney, soon, i hope. now get dressed, uncle pork pie will fix you breakfast. i'm going to the hospital, got a sick friend."

sysco looked awful, she was asleep, her wrists were tightly restrained against the bed frame. dr. smith was standing over her. "any change, smith?" i asked.

"i think she'll make it," he answered. "ran three units of blood last night, hemoglobin is eleven this morning." she looked like a victim of count dracula. "by the by miss, you did a fine job last night."

"no smith, you did, i wasn't even here." he smiled. sysco's eyes opened. dr. smith shone a pen light into them. sysco shook the entire bed. she was trying to talk.

"do you know what she's trying to say nurse?" he asked.

"she wrote me to get the fuckin' tube out of her throat doctor." a knock at the door, and the nurse went to open it. "yes ma'me?"

"may i see miss bolin, i'm darline calloway, her daughter."

"one moment please," the nurse said. "her daughter, doctor."

"give her ten of morphine nurse, then we'll speak with her." the nurse did so, and sysco relaxed immediately. The ventilator registered 12 breaths per minute, she was in la la land. darline was a pretty girl, probably in her thirties, tall, plump and well dressed.

"mother!" she said. no responce from sysco. "ma ma!" she shouted.

"we've given her a sedative miss, she'll sleep for a while," doctor smith explained. she put her hands over her face, and cried bitter tears.

"oh my god," she moaned. i put my arm around darline.

"it's alright baby, she'll probably be fine. i'm carlee mccord, and this is doctor smith, your mom's surgeon."

"darline calloway. pleased to meet both of you. poor mother, i've seen her like this before, several times in fact." she sniffed.

"miss mccord is quite right mrs. calloway, your mother is improving rapidly, probably be off the breathing machine by tomorrow."

"doctor!!" the nurse shouted from across the room. sysco had broken her right wrist restraint and had pulled her endotrachael tube out.

"son-of-a-bitch!" sysco yelled.

"what do you think miss mccord?" smith asked.

"she'll be fine," i said. "if she doesn't stroke out."

"mother," darline gently said.

"who in the hell are you?" she asked, still holding the tube, the bulb still inflated.

"darline mother, your daughter." if looks could kill.

"git the hell out of here, all of you!" she shouted. darline, crying, ran for the door.

"no sense in that sysco," i said.

"fuck you mccord, stay out of my business."

"but she was so concerned."

"if she were so fuckin' concerned,why in the hell haven't i seen her for the past ten years? now let me out of here, i've got work to do, where is that pig faced muthafucker?"

"miss bolin, calm yourself down," smith told her. "you're not going anywhere but to a private room tomorrow for observation, you've been very ill." sysco handed him the tube, then drifted back to sleep. i went to the waiting room to find darline. she was sitting there, crying.

"darline, i'm so sorry, your mom isn't herself, she had a close call." darline looked up and smiled.

"i could sense that miss mccord, she didn't try to kill me."

i chuckled."she's a tough customer."

"in her line of work, she has to be tough." i didn't acknowledge that i knew that sysco was a professional killer. i knelt down and hugged her.

"maybe she'll be more receptive tomorrow."

"i doubt it miss mccord, but thanks for your encouragment, my mother and i have never gotten along, i didn't follow in her foot steps."

"just as well," i said, and i meant it.

lissell and sidney were having breakfast. "where's pork pie?" i asked.

"gone out for pickled pig's feet," she answered.

"still drinking?"

"he'd have to be, to go out and eat those," she answered.

"breakfast of champions," i replied.

"how's your sick friend?" sidney asked.

"better honey, off the ventilator."

"did you or dr. smith take her off?"

"neither, she took herself off." i told the story of her daughter.

"poor darline," lissell said. "i can't even think of sysco bolin even having a daughter."

"she was very nice actually. do you have a car lissell, or are we stuck?" i asked.

"mr. anderson has mine, but if you have errands, you can use margaret's."

"i really need to find pork honey, do you think margaret would mind?"

"wait here, i'll go ask," lissell said.

"sidney." i said. "are you ok?"

"sure carlee, i was kind of hoping that i could come and live with you, but it's ok, daddy's coming home." i smiled and kissed him.

"yeah sidney, he's alright baby." lissell came back with the car.

"it's a straight shift baby, can you handle that?"

"i can drive a semi lissell."

"wow," she said.

xxx

"what about this warrant served on sysco bolin, bobby?"

"well sir, it's not exactly a warrant, captain zimmerman."

"a subpeona then."

"not that either, sir."

"well what in the hell was it then?"

"an acknowledgement, kind of, it has too many holes for a warrant, it's actually a list of charges against her," bobby answered.

"well shit man, is she under arrest or not!"

"the courts don't have time for her at this point captain."

"then why in the hell did your people have us serve her with a piece of paper tell her all of the bad things she's done?" zimmerman asked.

"action was rescinded about the same time the papers arrived here sir. i was told to stop the serving on her, but was too late," bobby said, embarrassed.

"we're too efficient for you all agent mccgraw?"

"something like that sir."

xxx

i found pork pie at his favorite pool room, eating pickled pigs feet and drinking beer. "never mix, never worry," i said cheerfully.

"hell babe, it wouldn't make no difference eating these fuckers," he said, and reached in the jar for another. "have one carlee." he said.

"a little early for me pork."

"then a beer?"

"for that too," i answered.

"i've heard from him, little one."

"who pork, terry?" he shook his head as he dove into another pig's foot.

"how!" i said, startled.

"he beeped my office, they beeped me. this fuckin' beer's hot goddamnit, pour me a cold one!" he shouted. the barkeep handed him one in a can.

"on the house pork pie," he said.

"german huh? this will do," he snarled.

"where is he pork pie?"

"new mexico, carlee. he wants to talk with you."

"me! why me?"

"you've got his kid."

"how does he know that?" i asked.

"i told him," he answered.

"bless you, uncle pork pie," i said, with a degree of sarcasm. "did he give you a number?"

"yup."

"gimme," i said.

"not yet."

"and why not."

"i haven't finished my pig's foot," he answered, as he munched. then he buried his hand in the two gallon jug and fished out another foot.

"god pork pie, don't they have tongs or something?"

"only in china," he answered.

"is terry in trouble?"

"not according to him. my lawyers tell me i am though, they want me to take a vacation carlee."

"where?" i asked.

"i have this place in italy."

"on the beach?"

"no, the mountains, alps, i think."

"the alps are in switzerland, pork."

"well, maybe that's where it is, come with me carlee, it's a great place."

"i can't pork pie, there's sidney, and my life."

"living on a damn river in a shack ain't no life carlee."

"i don't live in a shack, pork, and i'm thinking about going back to school."

"school? ain't you a little old to be a student?"

"sure, twenty nine is ancient, now give me terry's number."

"what you plan on studying carlee?"

"the law, pork, so i can save guys like you."

"here." he reached in his pocket and handed me a piece of paper. it was dripping with pickled pig's foot juice.

i dialed the number on the pay phone. it rang six times, the pool room was empty, except pork pie, drinking german beer and indulging himself in pig's feet. "sypes," he answered.

"terry?"

"yeah, it's me, carlee." a large man walked in.

"don't fuck with me dude," pork pie said.

"i ain't fuckin' with no dude drinking beer and shooting pig's feet at this hour of the morning," he replied.

"where are you terry?"

"new mexico girl, they highjacked my truck and left me for dead. how's sidney?"

"sidney's fine terry, safe and sound, listen, you must come home."

"i know carlee, i know."

"find a motel, i'll find someone to come and get you terry."

"you're fuckin' with me dude," i heard pork pie say.

"alright old man, i'm fuckin' wit you."

"listen terry, i have to go, you call after you find a motel, and don't worry." i hung up just in time to see pork pie pour a two gallon jug of pig's feet on the big black guy's head. "pork!" i cried.

"you oughten' to have done that man," the black guy said, as he stood up.

"pork pie, what in the goddamn hell did you do that for!" i cried.

"fuckin' with me carlee."

"shit pork, he's reading a book!"

"out the way miss, there's work to be done," the dude said, as he drew a razor.

"no, now, listen, it's a mistake mister."

"right miss, the mistake of his life." black dude pushed my face, i hit a pool table, and hurt my back.

"god." i moaned, and the fight was on.