Mexican town, a good place for poor folk desperate to sell something for much less than it's worth. The shop itself is an exâ convenience store, its wide glass windows girded by burglar bars. In place of the Slushy machine stands a firearms display.
    This morning the sunlight slants through the steel bars covering the windows as into a prison cell. In the distance a train howls. Hiram starts the day with a nip of bourbon and its mist still warms his throat when a man- child in plaid western shirt and faded jeans stumbles in, struggling against the wind, face masked by a bandanna. Standing just inside the shop like a shy bank robber, he pulls down the bandanna and puts an asthma inhaler to his mouth. After a moment of wheezing he removes his cap and shakes it clean.
    Hiram watches the dust settle onto his recently swept tile floor. I appreciate that, friend, he says. I was just telling myself how my clean floor needed some dirt.
    Hiram has a Gregory Peck voice, rich and deep. A voice you hear on wildlife documentaries.
    You the owner?
    Hiram raises his chin. I might be. Long as you're not about to point a six- shooter at me and proclaim this a stickup.
    I'm not sticking up anyone.
    The newcomer puts his Colorado Rockies baseball cap back in place and tries to stand up straight, but it's as if his body is slightly crooked. He opens his mouth to speak and pauses. The fluorescent lights fill the white cap with a glow, giving him the aura of a farm- team Jesus, eyelashes long and girlish.
    Hiram pushes a bottle of hand sanitizer toward the rockabilly. Do the honors, would you?
    The man takes the sanitizer in a submissive way, rubbing his hands and then reaching out for a Kleenex to dry them.
    What I hear is that you and me are family.
    Hiram purses his lips. How so?
    My name's Jack Brown and I'm your wife's second cousin. Honey Davis. Davis is her stepfather's name. Her real father was a Hostetter, and my mother is Dorothy Hostetter, his cousin. So Honey's my second cousin. Or third, I don't know. You just ask her. She'll tell you.
    I'm sure she'd sing like a bird, says Hiram. But for the moment, let's say you're telling the Lord's truth. What can I do you for?
    You've got a reputation, you know that? People always talking about what a shrewd customer that Mr. Hiram Page is. I even hear you got two wives.
    Hiram blinks and again purses his lips almost imperceptibly. Both are sweet and pretty. And they smile when I walk up.
    Jack Brown grins. You got me there.
    Did you come in just to get acquainted? asks Page.
    Brown steps forward, speaks in a hush. Thing is, he says, I need to borrow some money. I got to buy a pickup.
    You do.
    I know what you're thinking. Just 'cause he's my wife's second
cousin he thinks he can saunter in here like the king of England and get some money for nothing. But that's not it at all.
    It's not the half of it, I'd wager.
    How much you give me to borrow off a carat- and- a- half diamond wedding ring? You know, as collateral.
    Carat plus? That's a big diamond.
    You're telling me. I'd say it's worth twenty grand.
    Hiram raises his eyebrows. These days you can buy a house in Little Pueblo for less.
    I got no use for a house.
    Hiram sighs. A pock- faced teenager scuffles in the door. He smells like weed and looks like trouble. His oil- black hair hangs in his eyes and between the bangs his gaze slides by Hiram and Brown like they're museum pieces and he's on a high school field trip.
    Hiram paces down the counter, away from Jack Brown and toward the kid. What can I
    This morning the sunlight slants through the steel bars covering the windows as into a prison cell. In the distance a train howls. Hiram starts the day with a nip of bourbon and its mist still warms his throat when a man- child in plaid western shirt and faded jeans stumbles in, struggling against the wind, face masked by a bandanna. Standing just inside the shop like a shy bank robber, he pulls down the bandanna and puts an asthma inhaler to his mouth. After a moment of wheezing he removes his cap and shakes it clean.
    Hiram watches the dust settle onto his recently swept tile floor. I appreciate that, friend, he says. I was just telling myself how my clean floor needed some dirt.
    Hiram has a Gregory Peck voice, rich and deep. A voice you hear on wildlife documentaries.
    You the owner?
    Hiram raises his chin. I might be. Long as you're not about to point a six- shooter at me and proclaim this a stickup.
    I'm not sticking up anyone.
    The newcomer puts his Colorado Rockies baseball cap back in place and tries to stand up straight, but it's as if his body is slightly crooked. He opens his mouth to speak and pauses. The fluorescent lights fill the white cap with a glow, giving him the aura of a farm- team Jesus, eyelashes long and girlish.
    Hiram pushes a bottle of hand sanitizer toward the rockabilly. Do the honors, would you?
    The man takes the sanitizer in a submissive way, rubbing his hands and then reaching out for a Kleenex to dry them.
    What I hear is that you and me are family.
    Hiram purses his lips. How so?
    My name's Jack Brown and I'm your wife's second cousin. Honey Davis. Davis is her stepfather's name. Her real father was a Hostetter, and my mother is Dorothy Hostetter, his cousin. So Honey's my second cousin. Or third, I don't know. You just ask her. She'll tell you.
    I'm sure she'd sing like a bird, says Hiram. But for the moment, let's say you're telling the Lord's truth. What can I do you for?
    You've got a reputation, you know that? People always talking about what a shrewd customer that Mr. Hiram Page is. I even hear you got two wives.
    Hiram blinks and again purses his lips almost imperceptibly. Both are sweet and pretty. And they smile when I walk up.
    Jack Brown grins. You got me there.
    Did you come in just to get acquainted? asks Page.
    Brown steps forward, speaks in a hush. Thing is, he says, I need to borrow some money. I got to buy a pickup.
    You do.
    I know what you're thinking. Just 'cause he's my wife's second
cousin he thinks he can saunter in here like the king of England and get some money for nothing. But that's not it at all.
    It's not the half of it, I'd wager.
    How much you give me to borrow off a carat- and- a- half diamond wedding ring? You know, as collateral.
    Carat plus? That's a big diamond.
    You're telling me. I'd say it's worth twenty grand.
    Hiram raises his eyebrows. These days you can buy a house in Little Pueblo for less.
    I got no use for a house.
    Hiram sighs. A pock- faced teenager scuffles in the door. He smells like weed and looks like trouble. His oil- black hair hangs in his eyes and between the bangs his gaze slides by Hiram and Brown like they're museum pieces and he's on a high school field trip.
    Hiram paces down the counter, away from Jack Brown and toward the kid. What can I
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