Jeremiah was reluctant. "Well, from now on, you park on the reflectors and toot your horn until I come and get you, understand?"
Audrey could be patronizing. "You tell him, honey."
Both hands full, Jeremiah Quint started walking back towards the house. Over his shoulder, he told his wife, "We can't take any chances, because you never know who it could be."
Rafferty was puzzled by Jeremiah's words.
Audrey Quint called to her husband, "Only nobody ever comes to see us, either." She turned and told Rafferty, "C'mon, I'll take you out to see Jimmy. He's out by Wild Banana Gulch."
Audrey and Rafferty walked across the yard towards Audrey's new International Scout parked under the trees. The windows were tinted.
Rafferty said, "Thank you. I appreciate this."
Audrey brushed that aside. "I'll do anything to get out of the house."
"How long have you been married?"
"How long is eternity?"
"Let me buy you both—and Jimmy—dinner tonight."
"What kind of a meal are we talking about?"
"Your choice. I’m on expense account."
"It's a deal!" Audrey said.
A retarded ten year old boy in pastel surfer shorts, white socks and no shoes, who walked delicately as a flower across the yard, came and stared at Rafferty. The boy had a dirty face and stringy long hair.
Audrey Quint said, "That's my son. Summertime. He likes being called Summertime. He's very special."
The boy stood on the running board of the truck and pressed his lips against the window. Audrey rolled down the window to speak to him.
Audrey Quint told her son, "Mommy will be back soon. You take care of daddy for me, okay, baby?"
The boy looked dubious.
"You'll be okay," Audrey promised.
They waved goodbye and drove off. Audrey rolled up the window and turned on the air conditioning. Summertime had left his lip print on the truck window.
Mad Dog Rahler and his son Lester stood face-to face on a ridge above sugar cane fields. Lester held a buck knife in one hand and was teaching his father how to play FLINCH! Mad Dog was a shirtless man in his early forties who needed a shave, a haircut and a bath. Lester was almost twenty, sunburned, and had crazy eyes.
Lester was flexing the knife. "The idea, dad, is to get the other guy to flinch before you do."
Lester leaned forward and flung the knife into the grass between his father's feet. The knife sunk midway between Mad Dog's shoes.
Mad Dog said, "Now what?"
Lester Rahler said, "Put your foot over the hole."
Still unsure of the rules of the game, Mad Dog pulled the knife free, then put his foot over the hole made in the grass.
Lester Rahler said, "Throw the knife as close to my toes as you can."
Mad Dog hefted the knife for balance, then tossed it into the air, catching it after it turned around once in mid-air. Then he leaned forward and threw the knife.
The knife struck an inch from Lester's bare foot and quivered from the power behind his throw.
Lester pulled out the knife and set his foot atop the hole made in the grass. "Good shot, dad!"
"And now it's your turn?"
Lester sank the knife to the hilt beside his father's sandal. "From now on, as your feet get closer together, the game heats up."
Mad Dog tugged out the knife, moved his foot closer to his other one, then tossed the knife. The knife landed a fraction of an inch from his father's other foot.
Mad Dog was growing skeptical. "Lester—? What's to keep the other guy from sticking the knife in your foot?"
Lester said, "You get to use the knife next."
"How do you know when you've won?"
"When he flinches, you win."
Mad Dog started to laugh. "You gotta be outa your fucking mind to be playing this!"
Lester frowned, juggling the knife. "Dad, don't say that."
"Why don't you just stick the guy, son? It's quicker."
"You're not trying to stick the guy!"
Mad Dog stiffened. "Shut up, Lester!"
"Daddy, don't tell me to shut up!"
"Helicopters!" Mad Dog said, warning him.
Mad Dog and Lester ran across the ridge to the trees. The growing rumble of approaching helicopters was behind them.
Their trucks were both parked beneath the trees, and their belongings were scattered around the trucks.
Mad Dog grabbed his portable color TV from atop his truck and threw it inside. He took out a shotgun and made sure it was loaded. Lester already had his shotgun racked and aimed at the sky.
Two helicopters were headed their way, noisy as motorcycles without mufflers. The choppers came quickly, then passed overhead, flying off towards the mountains, both painted in bumblebee colors, the word Sheriff in white letters on either flank.