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held open his ID case in the other hand, showing his star. He said, "Raylan Givens, U. S. Marshals Service." The name was no more familiar than the face, that rugged outdoor type with a fighter's nose. Harry stepped up now and shook his hand, squinting to show he was trying to remember. Raylan Givens was nearly a head taller in his cowboy boots, tan ones, Harry had noticed, yeah, with a wingtip design. He kept nodding as he gripped Harry's hand, pumping it. Harry said, "It was in federal court," taking a shot. "Am I right?" He got free of Raylan's grip as the man shook his head.
    "Almost," Raylan said. "I'll give you a hint. We took a trip together."
    Harry said, "Right, we met on a plane one time," and saw Raylan shaking his head again, still with that grin, enjoying this. So he wasn't offended at not being remembered. A good-natured type.
    "We made the trip together," Raylan said. "Started out from Miami International, got as far as Atlanta where we had to change?"
    Now Harry was nodding. "On our way to Chicago." He said to Joyce, "I was subpoenaed to appear before a grand jury. It would've put me in about the same position I'm in now, getting squeezed."
    "I was to see you got there," Raylan said, "but we never made it, did we? Least you didn't."
    Harry said to Joyce, "This was about five years ago."
    "Six years in February. We're hung up in Atlanta on account of the flight was delayed," Raylan said. "You were sore anyway 'cause you didn't want to talk to that grand jury. I mean you were good and ticked off."
    "I had no business being there."
    "If you had nothing to say, that would've been brought out in your testimony, wouldn't it? No, you had to pull a disappearing act on me after you gave your word." Raylan looked over at Joyce, in the kitchen now cleaning up. "We're in the Atlanta airport? I'm eating an ice cream cone, he says he's going to the men's and will be right back. The next time I saw him was yesterday, six years later.'
    Harry grinned, Raylan didn't. He said to Harry, "If you'd kept your word I'd be up in grade by now with the Marshals to a GS-Twelve 'stead of where I am presently and have been the past seven years. Nothing happened to you, though, did it? I thought sure the court would hold you in contempt and put out a fugitive warrant."
    Harry, serious now, said, "If I had ever shown my face in that courthouse, I would have been seen by some people as far worse than contemptuous. It turned out the Justice Department didn't need me anyway." He narrowed his eyes at Raylan Givens and this time saw the two of them in the Atlanta airport, only a glimpse, but with enough recall in it for him to say, "I think you told me you're from Kentucky."
    "Yes sir, Harlan County, in the eastern part of the state."
    "You don't drink."
    "Well, not too much."
    "I don't drink at all anymore."
    "Well, good for you."
    "You said your goal, at least then, was to be a... revenue agent?"
    "ATF," Raylan said. "That's Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, part of the Treasury Department. I still wouldn't mind it."
    Harry glanced at Joyce. "Wants to stop people from drinking and smoking."
    Raylan's grin returned. "That's what you said in Atlanta that time. I told you no, ATF goes after people who deal illegally in those items." He looked over at Joyce. "On the plane he kept trying to get me to have a drink."
    Harry watched Joyce give him kind of a smile, about to say something, but Harry beat her to it.
    "Let me ask you, Raymond--"
    "It's Raylan," the marshal said, and spelled it.
    "Raylan, right. Can I ask you what exactly your duties are?"
    "Well, we guard federal prisoners, see to their transportation. Work courtroom security, my least favorite assignment. We take care of forfeitures, property that's been confiscated."
    "I mean what're you doing for me?" Harry said. "I'm not a prisoner."
    "No, but you're likely to be called before a grand jury," Raylan said. "We're to see nothing happens to prevent your appearance."
    "What if I don't want