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stressed that last word. He said it with such disgust, such hatred, such animosity, that the very intention of the word was stripped of all sentiment, leaving Jonah in a vacuum of utter shame. Dale said he had trouble in California, but Jonah hadn’t expected to be ambushed the moment they passed the state line. Who could?
    “I’m … I’m sorry,” Jonah stammered.
    “You sure are,” Dale said. He finally turned to face Jonah and snorted as deep as humanly possible. After clearing his throat, his sinuses, his every nasal passage, Dale hocked an impressive loogie at Jonah’s feet. “Go on. Get out of here! Go! I don’t need you anymore!”
    Jonah stared at the wet spot, at Dale’s snotty sentiment baking in the California sun, unable to bring himself to speak.
    “Get lost, you loser!” Dale screamed.
    Like a scolded dog, Jonah flinched, but couldn’t move more than that. Guilt glued him to the spot, where he stood by his best friend as the man awaited whatever awful fate Jonah had driven him to.
    “Just go,” Dale begged in a weak voice.
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the officer said. He looped his thumbs into his wide belt and rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. “Don’t pull that Old Yeller bullshit with me. Besides, I don’t want him. I’m here for you.” He motioned at Dale.
    “Jonah,” Dale said, and sighed as he covered his face with both hands. “Please, just get in the car and leave while you still can. This is going to get ugly. You don’t need to see this.”
    “I’m not going to leave,” Jonah said. “This is my fault. I made this happen.”
    “No,” the officer said. “He made it happen when he shitted me out of our deal.”
    Jonah shook his head. “I don’t understand what the problem is. What deal? Does he owe you money?”
    “Money?” the officer said, then laughed, loud and long. “There ain’t no amount of money gonna cover this boy’s debts.” He laughed again.
    Jonah got out his wallet and said, “I can pay whatever he owes. I don’t have much, but if you give me time I might be able to organize a loan—”
    “Save your measly pennies, Jonah Orville Benton,” the officer said.
    Jonah stood on the side of the highway, wallet out and mind reeling. A river of traffic rushed past the three of them, stirring the exhaust-laden air, and at times almost knocking Jonah off of his feet. The sun pricked his sensitive, pale skin. Sweat beaded across his anxious brow and slid between his shoulder blades in cool rivulets. Jonah was sure he had misunderstood the man. The traffic was so loud—the honking, the revving engines, the shouted slurs of passengers. Certainly Jonah had heard him wrong.
    “What was that?” Jonah asked, just to be sure.
    “You heard me right the first time, Mr. Benton.”
    “How do you know my name?”
    The officer laughed again, deep rumbling guffaws that reminded Jonah of distant thunder or far-off explosions. Between laughs, the man asked, “He really doesn’t know, does he?”
    “No,” Dale snapped. “And I want it to stay that way.”
    “Oh, it’s much too late for that, boy. Why not let him in on it? Why not tell him what he’s done by bringing you back here?”
    Jonah looked to Dale, more confused now than ever. “What’s going on here?”
    Dale turned away, unable to face Jonah as he said, “I owe him … something.”
    “What? What do you owe him? Just tell me, and I’ll go get it and bring it back, whatever it is. I promise.” Jonah grimaced at the word, realizing how undependable his promises really were.
    “No,” Dale said. “You can’t get it. No one can, except me.”
    “Why not? Let me help. Whatever it is, I will go as far as I have to, across the world if need be. I’ll get it for you, Dale. I swear it. I’m your best friend. Let me help you.”
    “You can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because you can’t.”
    “But I can—”
    “Because he wants my soul!” Dale cried.
    Jonah was stunned into total