Bosslady finally noticed Chester Lyles wasn't listening. She turned to see what had distracted him. Her green eyes locked Durwood's grays. Words kept coming from her mouth, finishing the point she'd been making like a mower sputtering down after you cut the gas.

Chester Lyles said, "Excuse me, Sybil. I believe this gentleman wants a word with us."

"No, not words," Durwood said. "I come for answers."

He scanned the seated diners. Besides Lyles and the lawyers, there was a third group. Sitting back from the table fingering cuff-links. An older man sat in the middle, portly. Neat snow-white mustache. He wasn't wearing a monocle but it would've fit his face.

Sue-Ann loped under the table, after a scrap of bread.

Chester Lyles found his easy smile. "You must be the man working on Mayor Bridges' behalf."

He explained to the others, "Our good mayor took the liberty of bringing in her own consultant." His eyes chuckled. "Of sorts."

The others chuckled with their mouths.

The CFO introduced himself formally, then asked Durwood's name. "My assistant told me, but I believe I misheard."

"Durwood Oak Jones."

Lyles centered a silk tie over the buttons of his dress shirt. "Apparently not. How can we assist you in your work?"

The man had a warm, accommodating way. Like he wanted to hear what you had to say. Different from Jay Hogan, who'd acted hostile and superior.

Durwood preferred Hogan's style.

"I'm here to find out what's to be of the company. Lot of folks in town depend on Hogan for their livelihood."

Sybil, the lawyer boss, got interested in how her fork was laying on her plate. The portly man checked his napkin in his lap.

Chester Lyles said, "I can assure you, everyone sitting around this table understands the gravity of the situation. Hogan Consolidated has a long, proud history, back to the 1920s, of paying an honest wage for an honest day's work. Our guiding principle is to do right by that history. To find a resolution to the current crisis that respects and honors the sanctity of labor."

Something about these words slipping from his mouth made Durwood think of missiles on a soundless night-vision feed, tumbling one by one out the belly of a bomber.

Durwood said, "What is the resolution?"

The direct question tripped Lyles. "That's, uh—it's still taking shape. We're working tirelessly to balance shareholder value with the best interests of Chickasaw."

The others watched to see if Durwood would be appeased.

He gestured to the portly man. "Who's he?"

The man spoke for himself. "Rudyard Raines, Raines Financial Services."

He tottered up and extended his hand. They shook. Durwood's rough skin was sandpaper against the money man's.

Other introductions were made. Young, clean folks—all worked for Raines or Sybil Fitzgerald, the lawyer. Most were slight and shied from Durwood's grip, but the kid next to Raines tried squeezing Durwood into submission. Fella with gym muscles and a puffy neck.

"Britt Holcomb," he said through gritted teeth. "I think you've wandered where you don't belong, partner."

Durwood squeezed back. The man's pink face went closer to purple.

Rudyard Raines put in, "It's alright, Britt. The restaurant is a public place. Mr. Jones is quite within his rights."

Reluctantly Britt Holcomb pulled his hand away.

Durwood turned to Lyles. "Seems like everyone here's on the 'shareholder value' end of the teeter-totter. Who represents the town?"

Chester Lyles grinned like a jackal. "Me, of course! I'm a Chickasaw native, born and raised. Used to eat an ice cream sundae every Saturday at the Dairy Whip."

"You and Jay Hogan."

"Sure. Jay and I go back to nursery school."

"Before your parents shipped you off to boarding school."

Lyles brushed this off as mere detail. "They wanted me to have the best education available. And hey, good thing they did—it's put me on equal footing with these killers." He winked at the bankers and lawyers. "Now when I negotiate, I get Chickasaw the best possible terms."

Durwood said, "Got terms, huh?"

Lyles glanced at Rudyard Raines. One of the older man's shoulders twitched.

"By rights, I shouldn't be telling you this," Lyles began, "but Rudyard here—"

"You shouldn't'a sicced your goons on me."

The room held its breath at Durwood's interruption, but Lyles pushed on. "In order to stay afloat, Hogan Consolidated is selling itself to Raines Financial. Rudyard here has generously agreed to purchase the company for forty-six cents on the dollar, which allows us—"

"Forty-four," Raines corrected.

Lyles made a jokey grimace. "Forty-five. And at that figure, they assume all legal jeopardy pertaining to ongoing lawsuits against Hogan."

Durwood said, "The bad hinges?"

"The hinges, yes," Lyles said. "Our PVC flanges have had issues as well."

As talk moved to industrial parts, the lawyer minions and Raines' people got bored. Went back to their steaks and baked potatoes—except Britt Holcomb, who kept glaring at Durwood like he wanted to meet out back.

Well, Durwood supposed he had his answer. The company was being sold because it couldn't afford to pay out the lawsuits. Carol Bridges had more or less guessed it. How Raines Financial would proceed was unclear. Would they close the factories, sell off assets, fire everyone? Or take an honest shot at running the business?

Looking into Rudyard Rainey's hooded eyes, he wasn't betting on honest anything.

Durwood said, "Hogan made quality parts for a century, now they can't drive a straight nail. That it?"

Lester's lithe chest fell in a sigh. "Things change. The workforce gets soft, lazy. It just happens."

Durwood said, "Nothing just happens."

The rest tittered over their fine food. They thought he was simple. They saw the dog, the hat, and figured they had Durwood pegged.

Rudyard Raines said, "We have great respect for Hogan employees. We plan to take a good, hard look at things before making any determination of next steps. We'll crunch all the numbers."

Sue-Ann returned to Durwood's side. He laid a hand down the ridge of her skull.

"You've already done your crunching," he said. "That's how you got to forty-four."

Nobody disputed this. Sybil Fitzgerald hid a smirk.

Durwood gestured out the window. "Chickasaw deserves more than lip service."

Chester Lyles peeked at a silver watch. "I don't know what more to say, friend. We've run up against financial reality. Facts are facts."

"Facts oughta be facts," Durwood agreed. "But folks at the top have a way of picking and choosing which ones matter."

Sybil Fitzgerald leaned over her plate. "Have you considered the source of your facts, Mr. Jones? What ulterior motives Mayor Bridges might have?"

Durwood felt weight shifting to his boot heels.

Lyles noticed and seized the point. "Sybil's a thousand-percent right. Carol Bridges got elected on a rabidly anti-corporate platform. I assume you knew that, yes?"

"We didn't talk politics."

"Oh, you didn't know she's a big Democrat? Real rising star. Thinks Hogan doesn't pay enough taxes—that was a big part of her campaign."

Durwood had assumed the mayor was Republican, this part of the state.

He said, "She struck me as fair."

But even saying this, Durwood felt doubt. Not doubt about Carol Bridges, who'd presented her case and herself straightforwardly.

Doubt about himself.

Durwood had hated lawyers for as long as he could remember. His father had called them "buzzards" and would grit his teeth every time they drove past some ambulance chaser's billboard.

Had this prejudice blinded Durwood? Made him see crimes where a cool, rational man wouldn't have?

Maybe Carol Bridges was using him. Maybe that humble smile and those legs, crossing and uncrossing, had been part of a ruse. A scheme to get her reelected, or propel her to the next rung of the ladder.

Maybe Durwood was out of his depths. Rudyard Raines, Sybil Fitzgerald—these people could talk circles around Durwood. They could think circles around him.

He asked, "When's this forty-five-cent deal final?"

"Close of business Friday," Chester Lyles said. "Five o'clock sharp."

Two days.

--

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