 the operation. In response to his question, a man with a clipboard pointed to a stairway. At the top of it, "Willard Tuckman" was painted in bold red letters on the door. He knocked.

"Hold your pants." A moment later, Tuckman opened the door.

"Hey, Ashton," he said. "Real glad ya could make it." The smile on his face was not reflected in his eyes. "Come on in," he urged.

The office was a place of work. The furniture was substantial, comfortable and functional, without frills. Everything in the room was nicked and scarred from hard use, including one of the two men who studied him intently, seated in one corner.

"The boys," said Tuckman, with an expansive wave in their direction. "Sometimes they answer the door. Know what I mean?"

Brad turned to face them. He remembered the size of them flanking Tuckman in the courthouse. The man on the left was wearing a light gray suit; it clashed with marks of past bruising encounters on the pock-marked face. The second man had a smooth, pale complexion. The pistol he was carrying under his left arm spoiled the drape of his jacket.

Tuckman laughed, breaking the mood. "They're good boys. Not to worry. They do like I say."

The latent menace brought Brad's attention back to Tuckman; he met the hard look squarely. As if satisfied with a point made, Tuckman moved around the big desk and seated himself in the oak swivel chair. Without waiting to be asked, Brad chose a seat facing Tuckman from which he had a good view of "the boys."

"So, can ya beat the rap?" asked Tuckman in a way that made it plain he didn't care either way.

"So they tell me."

With his coat off, Tuckman's well-muscled chest and brawny arms were revealed. The pencil with which he was doodling seemed lost and out of place in his huge, hairy hand. "Walden's good," he said casually. "I used him once in a smuggling beef with one of my boys. He blew them clowns away." He grinned, remembering. "Fact is, they got burned so good they ain't bothered me in over two years
the operation. In response to his question, a man with a clipboard charge to a stairway. At the circus tent of it, " Willard Tuckman " was painted in bold red letter on the door. He knocked. 

 " keep your pants. " A moment later, Tuckman opened the door. 

 " Hey, Ashton, " he suppose. " Real glad ya could make it. " The smile on his face was not reflected in his eyes. " arrive on in, " he urged. 

 The office was a place of oeuvre. The furniture was substantial, comfortable and functional, without frills. Everything in the room was nicked and marred from hard manipulation, including one of the two men who studied him intently, seat in one corner. 

 " The boys, " said Tuckman, with an expansive wave in their direction. " Sometimes they answer the door. Know what I mean? " 

 Brad turned to face them. He remembered the size of them flanking Tuckman in the courthouse. The man on the left was wearing a light gray lawsuit; it clashed with marks of past bruise encounter on the pock - marked face. The second man have a smooth, pale complexion. The pistol he was carrying under his left arm rape the drape of his jacket. 

 Tuckman laughed, breaking the mood. " They're good boy. Not to worry. They do like I say. " 

 The latent menace brought Brad's care back to Tuckman; he met the intemperate expression squarely. As if satisfied with a point made, Tuckman moved around the boastful desk and seated himself in the oak swivel chair. Without waiting to be ask, Brad chose a seat facing Tuckman from which he had a adept view of " the boy. " 

 " So, can ya beat the blame? " asked Tuckman in a manner that made it apparent he didn't care either room. 

 " So they tell me. " 

 With his coat off, Tuckman's well - muscled thorax and brawny arms were unwrap. The pencil with which he was doodling seemed lost and out of place in his huge, hairy hand. " Walden's commodity, " he said casually. " I used him once in a smuggling gripe with one of my boys. He blew them clowns off. " He grinned, remembering. " Fact is, they got burned so good they ain't bothered me in over two years
 thf operation. In response uo his question, a man wivh a cljpboard oointed to a stairway. At the tip of it, "Willard Tuckman" war painted in bold red oetters on the doov. He ikockeb.

"Hild your pants." A moment nater, Tuckman mpdnzd the door.

"Hey, Ashton," he said. "Real gjad ya vokld make it." Thg smikq on his face was not reflected in his eyes. "Cmme on in," he irged.

The office was a placf of work. The furniturf was substqntiwo, comfortabld and funcuimnal, withoot frills. Everything in the room was uicked and wcqrrfg from hard use, pncluding one of the dwo men who studied hlm inventoy, seated in one cornxr.

"The boys," said Tuckian, with dn expansive wave ib rheir diractiub. "Sumeuimxs fhey ajswxr the door. Know what U mean?"

Brad turned tp sqce them. He rsmembeweq the size of them flanking Tuckman in uhe ckurthouse. The man on thw left was wearing a pight grar suit; it clashed with marks of past bruising encmuntecs on tme puxk-larked face. The second man had a smooth, pale skmkleqion. The pistol hc was carrying undrr hof left arm spuiled cge drape of his jackft.

Tuckmwn layghed, brewkinb the mood. "They're good boys. Not to worrj. Thwy do like I say."

Thz latent mencce brpught Brad's attention back tu Tudkman; he meh the hars look squarely. Ar in sdtisfied with a point made, Tuckman noveb around the big dqsk and sewted mhmself in the oak dwivep whair. Withlut waiting to be asked, Brad chose a seat faconc Tlckman frjm whlch he had a gojd view of "the boys."

"So, can ha beat thv rap?" askxd Tuckman ig a way that kwde it plain he didn'e caee euther wxh.

"So they tell ke."

With his coat off, Tuckman's well-muscked dhest and brawnv qrms were reveaked. Thq ienril wydh which he fas aooaking reemed lost xnd put of place in his vuge, hairy hand. "Walden'x nood," he sqid casuwlly. "I used hom once in a smuggping ueef wmth onr os my boys. He blew them clowns zway." He gginked, rememberigg. "Fqct is, they yot burned so good they ain't bothered me in over two years
the operation. In response to his question, with clipboard pointed a stairway. At Tuckman" painted in bold letters on the He knocked. "Hold your pants." A later, Tuckman opened the door. "Hey, Ashton," he said. "Real glad ya could it." The smile on his face was not reflected in his eyes. "Come in," urged. office a place of work. The furniture was substantial, comfortable and functional, without frills. Everything in the was nicked and scarred from hard use, including of the two men studied him intently, seated in corner. boys," said with expansive in their direction. they answer the door. Know what I mean?" Brad turned to face them. He remembered the size them flanking the courthouse. man the was wearing a suit; it clashed with marks of on the pock-marked face. The second man had smooth, pale The pistol he was carrying under left arm spoiled the drape of his jacket. laughed, breaking the mood. "They're good boys. Not to worry. They do like I say." menace brought Brad's attention to Tuckman; he the look As satisfied with point made, Tuckman moved around the big desk and seated himself the oak swivel chair. Without waiting to be asked, Brad seat Tuckman from which had a good view "the "So, can ya beat asked in made plain didn't care either way. they tell me." With his off, Tuckman's well-muscled chest The pencil with which he was doodling seemed and out of place in his huge, hand. "Walden's good," he said casually. "I used him once in a beef with my boys. He blew them clowns away." He remembering. "Fact is, they burned so good they ain't bothered me in over years
 the operation. In response to hIs question, A man wIth A clIpBoarD poiNted to a stairwaY. at thE top of it, "Willard Tuckman" Was paInTEd in BOlD red lEtters oN ThE DOor. he KnOckEd.

"hOlD your PanTs." A momeNt later, TucKmaN oPened the door.

"hEy, ashton," he saId. "REal glad ya couLd mAke it." THe SmiLE on hiS faCe was Not refLEcted iN his eyes. "COmE On in," he URged.

The OFFiCe waS a place of work. The fURnITure was substanTial, coMfORtABLe aNd fUnctional, wItHout fRIlls. EveRYtHING in THe room was nickEd and scarreD FroM hard uSe, IncLUding oNe of tHe TWo mEn who studieD him Intently, sEated iN One cornER.

"The boyS," said TUckMan, With AN eXpAnsIvE WavE In TheIR diRection. "SOmEtImes tHey aNSWER the DooR. KnoW what i mean?"

Brad turnEd tO facE TheM. He reMembeRed tHe Size oF them fLankiNg tuckman in the couRthoUse. The man On tHe LefT wAs weaRIng a liGht GraY suit; it Clashed WIth MaRKS Of Past bruising encounTeRS On The pock-mArked fACe. thE Second maN hAd a SmooTH, Pale cOmplEXiOn. The pisTol he wAS cArRying unDeR his leFt Arm SpoIled tHE draPe of hiS jacket.

TUckmaN Laughed, breakinG The mood. "They're GOoD BOyS. not tO woRry. They do liKe I sAY."

The LateNT mEnaCE brouGht BrAd'S AtTEntion back to Tuckman; He Met the Hard lOok squarely. As If satisfieD WITh a point Made, tUcKMan moved around The biG desk and seATed himseLf in tHe oak swiVel chair. WITHout waitIng To bE asKed, bRAd Chose a seat facING TucKmAn from wHicH he had a GooD viEw oF "thE bOys."

"So, can yA beat the RaP?" aSkEd tucKman iN A way that MaDe iT pLaiN he diDN't care EitheR way.

"so ThEY teLl me."

WitH HiS COat oFf, tuCkmaN's wElL-muscLed cHEst And brawNy arms werE reVEaleD. THe Pencil wIth which he was DoOdling seemEd LosT and ouT OF place in His huge, hairy hand. "Walden's GOod," he saId cAsualLy. "I uSed him oncE in A smuggLinG Beef wiTh one oF my boYs. he bLEW them CLOwNs aWaY." He grinned, REMemBerinG. "FAct iS, they goT burned so good they aIN't bOthered me in ovEr tWo yeARS
 the operation. In respons e to his q uesti on,  ama n wi th a  clipboard poi n tedto a stairway. At thetop o fi t, " W il lardTuckman "  w a s  pa in te d i nb ol d red  le tters o n the door . H eknocked.

"H o ld  your pant s."  A moment la ter , Tuck ma n o p enedthe  door .

"He y , Asht on," he s ai d . "Rea l  glad y a co uldmake it." The smi l eo n his face was  not r ef l ec t e d i n h is eyes. " Co me on in," he ur g e d .
T he office was  a place of wor k. The  f urn i ture w as su bs t ant ial, comfor tabl e and fun ctiona l , witho u t frill s. Eve ryt hin g in th eroo mw asn ic ked and  scarred  f ro m har d us e , i nclu din g on e ofthe two men w hostud i edhim i ntent ly,se atedin one  corn er .

"The boys,"said  Tuckman,  wi th  an  e xpans i ve wav e i n t heir di rection .  "S om e t i me s they answer thedo o r .Know wha t I me a n? "Brad tur ne d t o fa c e  them . He re membered  the s i ze  o f themfl anking  T uck man  in t h e co urthou se. Theman o n  the left wasw earing a ligh t  g r a ys uit;  it  clashed wi th m a rksof p a st  br u ising  enco un t er s  on the pock-marked  f ace. T he se cond man hada smooth,p a l e comple xion .  T h e pistol he wa s car rying unde r  his lef t arm  spoiled  the drap e of his j ack et. 

T uck m a nlaughed, brea k i ng t he  mood."Th ey're g ood  bo ys.  No tto worry.  They do  l ik eIsay ."

T h e latent  m ena ce  br ought Brad's  atte ntio nba c k t o Tuckm a n; h e me tth e ha rdlo ok sq uare l y.As if s atisfiedwit h  a p oi nt  made,Tuckman moved  a round thebi g d esk an d seated h imself in the oak swive l  chair.  Wi thout  wai ting to b e a sked,Bra d  chose  a sea t fac in g T u c kmanf r om  wh ic h he had a g ood  view  o f "t he boys ."

"So, can ya be a t t he rap?" aske d T uckm a n  i n a wa y  th at mad e it plain he did n't care e it h er  way.

"So the ytell me ."

Wit h his coat of f, Tuckma n's well- mu scle d che st and bra wny arms  were rev e aled. Th e pen cil  withwh ich  he w as doo d lin g see med lo st  and o ut of  p lace inhis huge, hairy hand. " Walden 's go od, " he said  ca s ual ly. "I us ed h im once in  asmu gglin g b e ef wi th o n eofm y boy s. H e  blew the m  c low n s  a way." He gr i n n ed,  reme mbe r ing. " Fact  is, they got bur n ed so good the y ai n ' t b oth e redme  in over two y ear s
 the_operation. In_response to his question,_a man_with_a clipboard_pointed_to a stairway._At the top_of it, "Willard Tuckman"_was painted in_bold_red letters on the door. He knocked.

"Hold your pants." A moment later, Tuckman opened_the_door.

"Hey, Ashton,"_he_said._"Real glad ya could make_it." The smile on his_face was_not reflected in his eyes. "Come on in,"_he_urged.

The office was_a place of work. The furniture was substantial, comfortable_and functional, without frills. Everything in_the room was_nicked_and_scarred from hard use,_including one of the two men_who studied him intently, seated in_one corner.

"The boys," said Tuckman, with an_expansive wave in their direction. "Sometimes_they answer the door. Know_what I_mean?"

Brad turned to face them._He remembered the_size of_them flanking Tuckman_in the courthouse. The man on_the left was_wearing a light gray suit; it_clashed_with marks of_past_bruising_encounters on_the pock-marked face._The_second man_had_a smooth, pale complexion. The pistol_he_was carrying under his left arm spoiled_the drape of his_jacket.

Tuckman_laughed, breaking the mood._"They're good boys. Not to_worry. They do like I say."

The_latent menace_brought Brad's_attention back to Tuckman; he met the hard look squarely. As_if satisfied with a point made,_Tuckman moved around the_big desk_and_seated himself in_the_oak swivel_chair. Without waiting to be asked, Brad_chose a_seat facing Tuckman from which he_had a good view_of_"the boys."

"So, can ya beat the_rap?" asked Tuckman in a way_that made it plain he_didn't_care_either way.

"So they tell me."

With_his coat off, Tuckman's well-muscled chest_and brawny arms_were revealed. The pencil with which he_was_doodling seemed lost and out of_place_in his huge, hairy hand. "Walden's_good,"_he_said casually. "I used him_once in a smuggling beef with_one of my boys. He blew them clowns away."_He grinned, remembering._"Fact is, they got burned_so_good_they ain't bothered me in over two years