The TV was still on, as was the light. It didn't look like she'd undressed, though she'd at least taken off her jeans, as they were lying on the floor...Moira stepped past me and moved quietly, turning off the television, pulling the sheet up over Saralinda's shoulder, and giving her the softest good-night kiss on the forehead, before shutting off the light.She pushed me out of the room and closed the door."We'll have to wait until morning to ask for her ideas," said Moira. "Lord knows, she needs. ”Pilar said, “Fucker.”“Here’s a photo of him. Mugshot. Usually wears a cowboy hat, a white one, but we can’t rely on that. Just ... try to stay aware.”We passed the photo around. Mugshot from a Billings bar brawl where Wexler had broken his pool partner’s humerus. I patted my arm between the shoulder and elbow. “Cue stick. Swung it like a baseball bat.”Wexler looks like a lowlife. Country lowlife. Small eyes, set close together, large curved nose, chin that slopes away. Thinning mouse-brown. More

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