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said the young one. “It’s clean. It’s this year. It’s white. It’s small and it runs. You just have to play the radio a little loud if you want to hear it. Air conditioner is great. We’ll throw in an air freshener, a green one shaped like a pine tree.”
    “Will I need it?” I asked.
    Alan and Fred shrugged.
    “One thirty, and we’re losing money,” the older said.
    “We like you,” said the younger one.
    “You’re a regular. You send us business.”
    This amused the hell out of the younger one.
    “I’ll take it,” I said.
    “You want to give him the keys and papers, Fred?” asked the young one.
    I had them now. Fred was the older one. He had stopped crying.
    I not only had their names straight, I also had a car that smelled as if a heavy smoker had lived in it. The car also had thirty-four thousand miles on it. I could have probably negotiated a deal to buy it from them for about three weeks’ worth of rental fees, but I didn’t want a car. I tore open the plastic bag, took out the pine tree, set it on the dashboard, turned on the air-conditioning and opened the windows.
    I drove the half-block to the DQ parking lot, which was less than half full–not bad for late afternoon. There was a line and people were seated at the two umbrella-covered tables, eating and laughing. At least the three teenaged boys at one table were laughing. A pair of thin women in their fifties wearing thin sweaters, which they didn’t need, sat at the other table eating silently.
    I was suddenly hungry, very hungry. I got in line, ordered two burgers and a Coke from Dave and gave him the article on John Marshall. He thanked me and said he would read it as soon as he had a break.
    The teens were laughing louder and throwing bread from their burgers at each other. One of the boys heaved a chunk of sandwich. It sailed into the back of one of the two women.
    “Sorry,” said the kid who had thrown the burger. He was grinning.
    The thin woman didn’t turn.
    “Give me a second, Lew,” Dave said when I got to the window.
    He moved back into the DQ, past the sink and out the side door, throwing his white apron on a table as the door closed. He appeared in front of the table
where the teens were still hurling food. At first they didn’t see him. The boys were big. Football types.
    “Pick up what you threw and give the lady a real good apology,” Dave said. “Then leave and don’t come back for at least a week. And if you come back, come back docile. You know what that means?”
    All three boys stood up. Dave didn’t back down.
    The boys were no longer laughing.
    “We didn’t mean nothing,” the biggest boy said.
    There was defiance in his chunky face.
    Another boy stepped in front of his friend and put a hand on his chest.
    “We’re sorry,” said the second boy with some sincerity. “We was just celebrating. My friend Jason here, he just found out that he doesn’t have HIV. Just got the report from the hospital. He was sure he—”
    “None of this guy’s business,” said Jason.
    “Let’s just go, Jace,” said the mediator, looking at the third boy, who nodded in agreement.
    “Clean up first and apologize,” said Dave.
    “No way,” said Jason, looking my way to be sure it would be three against one if it came to throwing punches.
    “Any of you know a girl named Adele Tree?” I asked.
    “No,” said the mediator. The answer was wary. Something about the name had hit home.
    “How about Adele Handford?”
    All three of them turned toward me. The name Adele had hit home. They looked at each other. The thin women got up and left, carrying what remained of their meal.
    “Her friend Ellen. I almost got the HIV from Ellen,” said Jason.
    “Easy Adele,” said the mediator. “Must be talkin’ about Easy Adele.”
    “Where can I find her?”
    They looked at each other again.
    “I’ll clean up the mess you made. It’s too late for the apology.”
    “They’ll clean it up,” Dave said. “It’s their