Page 438 of Devil’s Disciples

“Suppose so.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I stayed up too late last night.”

“That movie was good, though.”

“The Hustler is an awesome movie,” I said. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen it.”

“Wasn’t as good as that one we watched the other day. The boxer that testified against that guy? What was it? The Waterfront?”

“On the Waterfront,” I said. “That was Marlon Brando.”

“I like that one. Movies like that make you think. Made me think, anyway.”

“About what?”

“Life. Been thinking a lot, lately. Since Ghost’s death, anyway. And, since meeting you.”

“Good things, or bad things?” I asked.

“Both.” He glanced over his right shoulder. “I don’t want to die like this.”

“Like what?”

“With unfinished business. I want my life to be in order when I die.”

“You’re not planning on—”

“No. It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s just. I don’t know.”

I gazed out the window, wondering what unfinished business he had—other than the mess back in San Diego with the crooked cop. After a few miles of grassy green fields rushed past, a big sign on the side of the road let me know where we were going.

It took a moment to register.

I turned in my seat to face him. “Are we going where I think we’re going?”

With his eyes straight ahead, he grinned. “Depends. Where do you think we’re going?”

I grew excited and anxiously hesitant at the same time. “My stomach feels flippy-floppy.”

“You can add me to that list,” he said. “Mine’s been doing backflips all morning.”

“How long have you been planning this?” I asked.

“I don’t know that I’ve been planning it,” he said. “But I really started thinking about it when you said everyone deserves a second chance. It got me to thinking.”

“What if this isn’t what you think? I asked. “If everything’s the same?”

“We leave.”

I tried to wrap my head around everything that he might be going through and couldn’t make sense of it all. His situation was unique. All that mattered, I decided, was that I was there for him regardless of what he needed or wanted.

Before I finished my thoughts, he turned down a county road. There were hills, views of the beautiful mountains in the distance, and rolling fields of the greenest grass, but Goose paid no attention.

None of it seemed to matter.

The vehicle slowed. He looked off to his left. “Cleaned the place up a little.”

We rolled past a mailbox marked PEARCE.