IT WAS JUST BEGINING TO DRIZZLERS when Fredward turned onto my street, And then I saw the black car, a weathered Ford, parked in Charlie's driveway—and heard Fredward mutter something unintelligible in a low, harsh voice.
Leaning away from the rain under the shallow, front porch, Squaw Black stood behind his father's wheelchair. Billy's face was a massive stone as Fredward parked my truck against the curb. Squaw stared at the ground, his expression mortified.