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Daddy’s system, but the doctor said whatever they gave him would have made his whole respiratory system shut down in another couple minutes.”
    “Who would do this, Travis? Did you recognize the guy from anywhere?”
    “No sir. And I got a clear look at him at one point, in the waiting room. And I can assure you of this—I ain’t gonna forget that face.”
    The only long-shot idea Travis had was that LJ had got vengeance on the posse that carved his eye out, and this was some sort of payback. He’d be asking his brother about that in one minute flat.
    “But he’s going to make it?” Jack said.
    “Yeah, yeah.” Travis sighed, feeling like a slow-leaking tire. “They gave him an IV with some medicine that counters the effects of the bad drug. He vomited twice from it, but he’s resting good now. We’re hoping he gets back to a private room by tonight.”
    “I’m going to try to get over there to see you guys.”
    “You don’t have to, Jack. Besides, you ain’t got no car, remember? Sorry to leave you stranded.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Pam can get me.”
    Bo had managed to unfold his lazy bones from the couch and made his way over to Travis. “Can I have some coin for the snack machine?” he whispered. “I’m starving.”
    “Hold on a minute, Jack.” Travis looked up at Bo with a snarled face and covered the phone. “Did you ask yer daddy?”
    “He ain’t gonna give me nothin’.”
    Travis was a darn softy. “In a minute,” he whispered.
    Bo nodded and meandered away.
    “Jack, sorry. I guess that’ll do it. I’ll let you know when your car’s ready.”
    “Okay. We’re flexible.”
    “All righty then. I gotta make some more calls—one to that big-shot lawyer I told you about.”
    “The one helping you with Demler-Vargus? What’s his name?”
    “Ralston Coon.” Travis chuckled. “How could you forgit that one, right?”
    “Do you know how often your dad has met with him?”
    “Only once I know of. I drove him downtown to Coon’s office—it’s only a couple blocks from the Dispatch , in the Flat Iron Building. You shoulda seen that place. Whew-golly, it was polished.”
    “Did you meet Coon yourself?” Jack said.
    “Yeah. I went in with Daddy to make sure he got up to the office okay. Coon came out, and we said hey. I left Daddy there to tell Coon all the stuff he knew, and I ran errands.”
    “What kind of stuff?”
    “Daddy keeps notes—dates when we can actually see pink fiberglass all over the neighborhood. Names of neighbors who’s ailing from it. Names of employees who had the inside dope on what really goes on in the plant.”
    “And your dad shared all that with the lawyer?”
    “Yeah. Coon made copies of his notes. Daddy felt real good about the whole thing.”
    There was a long pause.
    “What’s wrong, Jack? Daddy felt like we was finally gonna get some justice. You think we did wrong?”
    “Not if Coon’s honest. How did Galen hear about him?”
    “His best buddy, Charlie Snellinger, recommended him.”
    “And is that the only time they met?”
    “They’ve talked on the phone a couple times, but I’m pretty sure that’s it. We keep pretty close tabs on Daddy. He’s been strugglin’ with rememberin’ things lately, like where he put his keys and his chewing tobacca.”
    “Has he mentioned that to a doctor? They have patches you put on your skin now to slow down memory loss.”
    The gimmicks people don’t fall for these days.
    “We might look into that,” Travis fibbed.
    “Do you recall when it was your dad met with Coon at his office?”
    “Second Tuesday of the month,” Travis said. “You know how I remember that so quick? ’Cause down at Gebralter’s Grocery, Mr. Gebralter makes his homemade sausage the first Tuesday every month. That’s where I went after I dropped Daddy.”
    “Travis, I talked to my editor today about doing an investigative piece on Demler-Vargus.”
    “You get the green light?”
    “He gave it to another