Fine with me. It’d be faster. I’d sent Harve an e-mail while Black was pulling himself together, telling him I’d be over later, most likely with Nicholas Black in tow. I also explained about Buckeye’s discovery so we wouldn’t have to go into it in front of Black. He’d suffered enough, and more problematic, he was angry enough. Surprisingly, I no longer looked forward to slamming a steel door shut on him. Tied up at my shabby little dock, in all its glory, bobbed one of Cedar Bend’s Cobalt 360s, the twin of the one sported about by the hunky Tyler. Designed for the whims of pampered guests, it was all long, clean lines, with the same global positioning system/radar unit, not to mention the main cabin outfitted with a table and berth, refrigerator/freezer, stove, and microwave, and the head compartment with a shower. Just in case you wanted to whip up a home-cooked meal or doll yourself up while catching a bass, I guess. Dottie would go ape over this rig. Black was quiet and introspective, but man, who wouldn’t be?
