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"Aren't you supposed to be plowing?" asked Mrs. R--."Too wet," he said without looking up. "Tomorrow, maybe." He lifted the jug to his shoulder, and I kicked it out of his hands and pulled him to his feet. I hit him hard in the belly, driving him back to the barn wall looking very surprised. He gaped at me as if he had seen a ghost. "Who the hell are you?" he gasped, trying to get his feet under him."Don't matter," I said, "you are discharged, like the lady said. Get your things and go, right now." They owes me," he said, "ain't paid me."I looked at the woman. "I stopped paying when he stopped working," she admitted, standing with feet well apart, hands on hips, the picture of fury.I dug out my fat purse and gave the man two shillings. "Now go," I growled. "And don't come back, not ever unless you want to stay here permanent like." I showed him my big bayonet and he stumbled away, mumbling. "You got two minutes," I yelled after him as the woman grabbed my arm.She pulled down my head. But what relevance is that?’ ‘It indicates your lack of worldliness, I guess.’ ‘To hell it does!’ The woman flounced up into the Chevy, slammed the door, grated the gears as she moved forward but had to wait for passing traffic to clear before pulling out into the busy thoroughfare. Nash smiled, listening to the burbling of the well-tuned V8 motor echoing through the exhaust. No-one would have finished a rebuild like that so immaculately without tossing in a new motor. Why anyone would place such a vehicle in the hands of a woman was beyond reason — unless, of course, she’d been widowed. He turned to walk to the bus stop when twin air-horns sounded. Nash turned to see who was being harassed. Instead he discovered the horn blast was for him, the now smiling woman having returned to her original parking position had wound down the passenger window and was beckoning. Hullo, he was going to be offered a tip? ‘I’m sorry,’ she smiled pleasantly through well-assembled teeth. ‘I didn’t.
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