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helped Slim to his feet. Fresh blood oozed from Slim’s mouth. He jerked his arms free, glaring at the world, and shook one callused finger at Junior and Bert. “You … you little sonofabitch.”
    His fragile composure was beginning to crack again. I couldn’t wait for it to shatter; then he’d go after Junior like some wild dog. Hell, this was something I’d pay to see. Slim swallowed and his top lip kept twitching as if he’d had a stroke. “I’m talking to you, boy, so you’d best—”
    Junior turned back to the procession one more time, speaking slowly and loudly so everyone could hear him clearly. “Why don’t you take that bony little dick of yours, stick it right up your tight ass, and start farting, motherfucker.” He shoved Bert into the passenger seat. Bert’s right arm hit the dashboard and he screamed. I tried not to grin.
    Fat Ernst and Heck finally reached the back of the truck. My boss was wheezing terribly, something exercise always did to him. Even though his lungs were shot, having to haul all that bulk around meant he still had muscles like boulders, buried underneath deceptive layers of fat. Once, when a trucker was mouthing off, I saw Fat Ernst casually reach over the bar and pop the guy in the jaw. It wasn’t a big, swinging roundhouse punch, either. No, it was just a little jab, but I heard the trucker ended up enjoying his meals through a straw for the better part of a year.
    Slim ignored Fat Ernst and Heck and kicked the truck’s back tire with one of his ostrich skin boots. I don’t think it hurt the tire much.
    “Howdy, Slim,” Fat Ernst breathed.
    Slim kicked the back bumper.
    Junior tossed the bull skull and the horn on the floor of the cab next to Bert’s boots and turned to Slim, smoothing out his pompadour with both hands. “Do it again. C’mon. Do it again! I got witnesses. When I drag your ass to court, I’m gonna tell everybody how you assaulted our truck.”
    “You little … little … sonofabitch,” Slim said in one long, hissed exhale. I don’t think anything scared Slim more than lawyers. He yelled, “Where is that useless goddamn deputy?” and looked down the highway, as if the police car might just happen to be driving along. He whirled and pointed at Fat Ernst. “Call Ray! Get him out here right now!”
    Fat Ernst finally caught his breath enough to string more than three words together. “Well now, Slim, I don’t know exactly what happened here, but—”
    “Get on the goddamn phone! I want Ray out here now! Right now!” Slim started to say something else, but Junior jumped into the truck and started it with a roar, drowning out the rest of Slim’s words.
    I stepped smartly out of the way as the hide and tallow truck backed away from the smoking hearse. It swung around in reverse toward the restaurant. The gears ground together like a mouthful of steel shavings as Junior forced the gearshift into first. He beeped the horn twice and waved, then flew back down the highway the way we had come, passing the funeral procession once again.
    “Sonofabitch!” Slim screamed.
    “Now, just take it easy, calm down and …”
    But Slim wasn’t listening. He stormed back to his Cadillac, ripped open the driver’s door, and got in. The back doors popped open and family members hastily crawled out as Slim gunned the engine.
    Misty stepped away and shut her door. Slim’s and Earl’s wives, I didn’t know which was which, clung together, watching Slim with wide, horrified eyes. Even Fat Ernst managed to get out of the way.
    Slim stomped on the gas but nothing happened. The Cadillac didn’t move. The back bumper was caught underneath the bumper of the burnt-orange Cadillac behind it.
    Slim tried again, and the front tires started spinning on the wet asphalt. The bumpers gave a protesting, grinding sound, but held. The front of Slim’s car drifted back and forth across the intersection. He screamed something and punched at the steering wheel. Then he jerked