Feast Day of Fools (Hackberry Holland 3)

“That brings me to another topic,” Noie said. “I know the government wants to get their hands on me, but for the life of me, I can’t figure why you’re running from them.”

“You’ve got it turned around, pard. I stay to myself and go my own way. If people bear me malice, I let them find me. Then we straighten things out.”

“I bet you give them a piece of your mind, too.”

“You could call it that.”

“You ever take your guitar out and play it?”

“My guitar?”

“You keep the case under your bed, but you never take your guitar out and play it.”

“It sounds like it was tuned to a snare drum. That’s because I tuned it.”

Noie’s expression had turned melancholy. He set down his fork and studied his plate. “That couple I met on the trail don’t mean us any harm, Jack. Particularly toward a fellow like you. I don’t know why you choose to be a hermit, but you’re the kindest man I’ve ever known, and I’ve known some mighty good ones.”

“I believe you have, Noie.”

“I worry about you because I think you’re bothered about something in your past, something you probably shouldn’t be fretting yourself about.”

Through the back window, Jack could see the rain from last night’s storm still dripping off the barn roof and dew shining on the windmill and steam rising off the horse tank. The blueness of the morning was so perfect, he didn’t want to see the sunlight break over the hill. “We’ve got us a fine spot here,” he said. “Sometimes if you listen, you can hear the earth stop, like it’s waiting for you to catch up with it. Like it’s your friend and it wants you to be at peace with it. That’s why I live alone and go my own way. If you don’t have any truck with the rest of the world, it cain’t mess you up.”

Noie seemed to study the content of Jack’s words, then he stared at his plate again and put his arms below the table. “I got blood on my hands,” he said.

“From what?”

“Those Predator drones.”

“It’s not your doing.”

“Those things have killed innocent people, Stone Age peasants who don’t have any stake in our wars.”

“That’s just the way it is sometimes.”

“My grandmother used to say there’re two kinds of men never to associate with. One is the man who’ll shed the blood of the innocent, and the other is a man who’ll raise his hand to a woman. She always said they’re cut out of the same cloth. They’re of Cain’s seed, not Abel’s.” Noie picked up his fork and waited for Jack to speak. Then he said, “Go ahead.”

“Go ahead what?” Jack asked.

“You looked like you were fixing to say something.”

“If you see that Parks and Wildlife guy again, don’t be in a hurry to have your picture taken,” Jack said.

“Where you headed?” Noie asked.

“I thought I might tune my guitar. I’ll be up yonder in the rocks.”

“Why are you taking your binoculars?”

“After a storm, there’re all kinds of critters walking around, armadillos and lizards and such. They’re a sight to watch.”

THAT SAME MORNING Anton Ling received the most bizarre phone call of her life. “This is Special Agent Riser, Ms. Ling,” the voice said. “You remember me?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “You’re with the FBI?”

“I was the supervising agent who talked to you after your home was invaded.”

“I’d like to believe you’re calling to tell me you have someone in custody.”