Sergeant Mallory.” “Sergeant, this is Mim Jones.” “Hi, how’re you doing?” “Fine. Listen, I need to speak to Chico if he’s not busy.” The sergeant was used to judging from people’s voices when something was urgent. He said, “I’ll put you right through.” “Thanks.” Mim Jones waited, twisting her finger nervously in the telephone cord. “Mim, what’s happening?” Chico Jones said. “Chico, I hate to bother you, but I think I’m into something I can’t handle.” “I didn’t think there was such a thing,” Chico commented. She grimaced at his tone. “Chico, this concerns our daughter.” “Herculeah.” Now both his tone and his face got serious. “Shoot,” he said. “Meat’s uncle called me this morning.” “Meat’s uncle. I didn’t know he had one.” “Well, he does, and he’s here—across the street. He asked to see me, and so I sent Herculeah off on a wild-goose chase. I knew she’d get involved. You know how she is.” “All too well.”
