"Funny, but I'm kind of looking forward to it. I mean, you can do only so much fishing and play so much golf before you start getting a little fuzzy around the edges. You want me to take along a tape recorder
or something like that?"
"Harry says no, and he's right. Just go as you are, and play it very cool. These are suspicious people-paranoid, even-and we don't want to do anything to worry them."
"I get the picture."
"Don't swear any blood oaths just yet, either. Play a little hard to get; make them work to get you."
"Hard to get, huh? Are we back to my sex life?"
"Come on, Ham, you were never hard to get in your life. This'll be a new experience for you."
Ham laughed. "It sure will be that, and I have to tell you, I'm starting to look forward to it. I've always loved fried chicken."
"Okay, Ham, if you think of anything else, call me tomorrow at the station. Otherwise, just call me as soon as you're safely out of there. I want to hear all about it."
"Oh, you'll be the first to know everything," Ham said.
"Ham, just a thought: Take along a gun."
"You want me to go armed?"
"Not exactly. Just put your nine-millimeter in the glove compartment and don't lock it. If they get curious, it would be nice for them to find it"
"Whatever you say, darlin'. You sleep well, now."
"Believe me, I'm going to."
25
Ham dressed in khakis a polo shirt. and a light sweater, the way he might if going to dinner at anybody's house. He checked himself in the mirror, the way he had sometimes done before combat missions, to see if he looked the proper warrior. This was the first time he had been a warrior in a polo shirt.
Feeling a little buzz of anticipation-not quite nervousness-he stuffed his 9mm semiautomatic into the glove compartment of his truck and drove west toward Lake Winachobee. He followed the dirt road the way he had on his last visit, but this time he wasn't diverted, so he drove right to the beginning of Main Street and stopped. Clapboard buildings lined each side of the street, and they might have been something out of the early twentieth century, or maybe Disneyland. There was a general store and half a dozen small-town businesses. He turned right, and drove down the dirt road. The sun was just setting, and the lights had come on in the first house on the left. It was a one-story house, but new-looking, neat, with a trimmed lawn and flower beds hugging the house. There was a three-car garage and, off in the woods, some sort of metal utility building. He turned into the driveway, switched off the engine, and got out of the truck.
The front door of the house was opened immediately by Peck Rawlings, who came out to greet him. "Hey there, Ham," he said, pumping his hand. "Glad you could make it."
Ham shook his hand. "Thanks for asking me, Peck."
"Come on in the house and meet some folks." He led the way inside.
Three couples were sitting in the living room, and the men all stood up. Ham had met two of them before.
"You remember Jim and James, I guess, from the gun show."
"Sure," Ham said, shaking their hands.
"And this is Mack Harston," Rawlings said, indicating a bulked-up man in a tight shirt.
"Mack, how you doing?" Ham said, shaking his hand.
Harston nodded.
"That's his wife, Emily," Rawlings said, pointing at a pregnant woman by the fireplace. "This is my wife, Betty, Jim's wife, Edie, and James's wife, Laurel," he said, pointing out the other women.
"Are you married, Ham?" Emily Harston asked.
"My wife died many years ago," Ham replied. "I never remarried."