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"He'll be fine," Lanie said. "Put him on a highway and he'll eat his way home."

"He'll be fine," Lanie said. "Put him on a highway and he'll eat his way home."

Not so long, Lanie thought, maybe fifteen minutes. "Mind if I take a shower?"

Decker perked up. "So you know about Skink?"

"Those are first-rate," Decker said, but he had nothing more plausible to offer in the way of Skink theories. A bomber for the Weather Underground. Owsley's secret chemist. Lead singer for the Grass Roots. Take your pick.

"I could call the cops, you know."

"I told you, he didn't say a damn thing, just sang this song over and over."

"What else did he mention?"

"What for? He's long gone."

"Well, here we are," she said, a bit too brightly. "Another night, another motel. Decker, we're in a rut."

"I told you, he didn't say a damn thing, just sang this song over and over."

Decker was past the point of being surprised. "A song," he repeated. "Skink was singing?"

"He's a legend," Lanie said. She started unbuttoning Decker's shirt. "One rumor is he's a mass murderer from Oregon. Another says he's ex-CIA, helped kill Trujillo. One story goes he's hiding from the Warren Commission."

"Well, don't get too damn excited," she said, scowling. She wrapped herself in the towel.

"Those are first-rate," Decker said, but he had nothing more plausible to offer in the way of Skink theories. A bomber for the Weather Underground. Owsley's secret chemist. Lead singer for the Grass Roots. Take your pick.

"He's a legend," Lanie said. She started unbuttoning Decker's shirt. "One rumor is he's a mass murderer from Oregon. Another says he's ex-CIA, helped kill Trujillo. One story goes he's hiding from the Warren Commission."

Lanie came out, still dripping. Already the purple ligature bars were fading.

She reached over and took his hand. "Don't worry about your weird friend, he'll find his way back to Harney."

Decker perked up. "So you know about Skink?"

"Remember the last time?"

Decker was past the point of being surprised. "A song," he repeated. "Skink was singing?"

"I told you, he didn't say a damn thing, just sang this song over and over."

"What for? He's long gone."

"I told you, he didn't say a damn thing, just sang this song over and over."

"Well, don't get too damn excited," she said, scowling. She wrapped herself in the towel.

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