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snares, said Landreaux. Fry some waboose.
    That would be on my diet, said Ottie. I’ll trade you some a them pills you like.
    Landreaux didn’t answer.
    But I’ll miss your deer meat, Ottie went on. I guess it ain’t something you get over, though. You keep on going through it.
    Over and over, said Landreaux. Maybe trade you later. I don’t need that stuff.
    But he did, ever so bad.

    THE HOT BAR at Whitey’s gas station sold deep-fried wings, gizzards, drummies, pizza, and Hot Pockets. Romeo Puyat saw Landreaux drive by the gas station and park out back in the weeds. Romeo was a skinny man with close-set, piercing eyes and a wounded, hunching walk. His right arm was always held close to his body because it had been broken in so many places that it was pinned together. Hisright leg too. Still, he could move quickly. Thinking that Landreaux would stay inside and eat his lunch, Romeo grabbed the siphon hose and his bright-red fire-code-approved plastic container. He lurched, crooked but efficient, over to Landreaux’s car and set up his equipment. Romeo was adept from frequent practice and soon had the gasoline flowing from Landreaux’s gas tank, through the rubber tubing, into his container.
    Landreaux walked out of the store carrying a small grease-proof cardboard box. His eyes flicked when he saw Romeo, but he did not acknowledge his old classmate. The reasons for hating each other went back to their childhood’s brutal end. The two had stopped talking back in boarding school. And then there was the time Romeo had tried to murder Landreaux in his sleep. That was in their early twenties, and it just happened that Landreaux had been in possession of a lot of money that one night. As the money was the main corrupting influence, Romeo was hurt that Landreaux still mistrusted him over the botched knifing. These days, at least, Romeo wasn’t after his old schoolmate’s life.
    Romeo had accepted, at least in theory, how Landreaux had stolen his first love, Emmaline, who maybe hadn’t liked Romeo anyway. Romeo was grudgingly okay with how Landreaux and Emmaline had unquestioningly taken in, and admirably looked after, his surprise son, Hollis. Romeo told himself that they got a good deal in that boy, because Hollis was A-number-one. Still, he had to admit there was a lot of upkeep involved there. These days, anyway, the main thing was that Romeo just wanted Landreaux to share and share alike. As a personal caregiver well-known at the hospital, surely Landreaux had lots of access to prescription painkillers. Why not make his old friend a little happier? Take away his agonies? Yes, Romeo had his own prescription, but it just was not OxyContin and sometimes he had to sell his lesser stuff to pay for the really good stuff. Like Fentanyl. He had been trying to buy a patch somewhere.
    Landreaux walked over to his car.
    Well, well, well, said Romeo, glancing down at the gas flowing through the tubing. Long time no see.
    Landreaux was touched, in a sad way, to find his old schoolmate stealing his gas. He had long ago decided that whatever Romeo or anyone else did to him resulting from his hell days he had coming. So he said nothing, except I gotta go. My mozzarella sticks are getting cold.
    Mozzarella sticks, said Romeo, with a look of distaste.
    For the kids, said Landreaux.
    Oooooh, said Romeo, as if he’d heard something wise and surprising. He jerked back his head, frowned in concentration, and gently removed the tubing.
    Got something for me, old niiji? He fussily tapped the tubing against the inside of the tank. Then he screwed the pressure-lock lid back on the red plastic jug and replaced the gas cap on Landreaux’s car. He smacked the cover closed.
    No, said Landreaux.
    Well, my work here is done, said Romeo.
    Picking up the red gas can, he gave a jaunty, irritating hand salute and stepped into the road that would take him back to his car and empty tank.
    Give my regards to Emmaline, he yelled over his