Two more days passed before Merle got restless. I about went nuts and thought of heading to Devil’s Paw in the guise of getting supplies, even as I knew this would be suspect. A detective must do nothing out of the ordinary, must not attract attention, so I laid low, walked the canyon, cleaned my gun, played cards until I couldn’t stand it. What I did not do was f**k Frank Metty.
I followed him once when he headed to the s**t pile, thinking maybe he’d do what he did that time before, plaster me against the rocks and put it to me. I was sorely disappointed when all he did was take a s**t and head back to camp. I got a passing look, but it gave me little as he had a way of going blank.
Nights remained a trial as Frank would cry out when he came, and Merle would get noisy as well, mostly is
