Huey Darnell, thrice divorced by harridans and now betrayed by his fourth wife, bourbon whiskey, sits alone and dismayingly sober in the back of a paneled van, just behind the front seats, watching the Tillman residence through a pair of binoculars.
Hassan Zaghari had been on duty this morning when the daughter, Jolie, drove her mother to the home of a deputy, Rob Stassen, to borrow an ancient Buick station wagon. Having followed them to and from the deputy’s place, when at home once more they began to load suitcases in the Buick, Zaghari had called Huey for instructions.
Fortunately, the women delayed until the bank opened and went in there together, which gave Huey time and an opportunity to fix a transponder to their borrowed vehicle.
Now Hassan Zaghari and Kernan Beedle, the only other agent on Huey’s reduced team, are following Rebecca and Jolie Tillman to God knows where, and Huey is left alone to keep track of the sheriff, who is on vacation and who is—who surely must be, who damn well better be—in the house, lounging in pajamas or sweats, eating Cheez Doodles and drinking beer and watching sports.
No one has glimpsed the sheriff since this surveillance began the previous day, Tuesday.
Huey Darnell is long past due to report this situation to his boss, Booth Hendrickson. He is hoping that if he makes the sacrifice of remaining stone-cold sober long enough, the gods will reward him and all of this will turn out to be of no importance, so that he never needs to tell anyone that he has screwed up. He doesn’t believe in gods or God, or Fate, or that the arc of history inevitably bends toward justice. However, maybe he is wrong about all those things. And if for the moment he is unable to believe in bourbon…well, a man has to believe in something.