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〃Figure what？ What are Seventy and Ninety…seven？〃
〃Routes； for Christ's sake！ There are routes and there are routes。 You are one dumb medicine man。 Hit the head； then maybe later we'll stop at a motel where we can continue our business discussion while you get an advance bonus。〃
〃I beg your pardon？〃
〃I'm pro…choice。 Is that against your religion？〃
〃Good Lord； no。 I'm a firm advocate。〃
〃Good。 Hurry up！〃
So Panov headed for the men's room； and indeed the woman was right。 There was no phone； and the window to the outside was too small for anyone but a small cat or a large rat to crawl through。 。。。 But he had money； a great deal of money； along with five driver's licenses from five different states。 In Jason Bourne's lexicon these were weapons； especially the money。 Mo went to the urinal…long overdue…and then to the door； he pulled it back several inches to observe the blonde。 Suddenly； the door swung violently back several feet and Panov crashed into the wall。
〃Hey； sorry； pal！〃 cried a short heavyset man； who grabbed the psychiatrist by the shoulders as Mo grabbed his face。 〃You okay； buddy？〃
〃Oh； certainly。 Yes； of course。〃
〃The hell you are； you got a nosebleed！ C'mon over here by the towels；〃 ordered the T…shirted trucker； one sleeve rolled up to hold a pack of cigarettes。 〃C'mon； put your head back while I get some cold water on your schnoz。 。。。 Loosen up and lean against the wall。 There； that's better； we'll stop this sucker in a moment or two。〃 The short man reached up and gently pressed the wet paper towels across Panov's face while holding the back of his neck； and every few seconds checking the flow of blood from Mo's nostrils。 〃There y'are； buddy； it's damned near stopped。 Just breathe through your mouth； deep breaths； you got me？ Head tilted； okay？〃
〃Thank you；〃 said Panov； holding the towels and amazed that a nosebleed could be stopped so quickly。 〃Thank you very much。〃
〃Don't thank me； I bashed you one by mistake；〃 answered the trucker； relieving himself。 〃Feel better now？〃 he asked； zipping up his trousers。
〃Yes； I do。〃 And against the advice of his dear deceased mother； Mo decided to take advantage of the moment and forgo righteousness。 〃But I should explain that it was my mistake； not yours。〃
〃Waddaya mean？〃 asked the trucker； washing his hands。
〃Frankly； I was hiding behind the door looking at a woman I'm trying to get away from…if that makes sense to you。〃
Panov's personal medic laughed as he dried his hands。 〃Whose sense wouldn't it make？ It's the story of mankind； pal！ They getcha in their clutches and whammo； they whine and you don't know what to do； they scream and you're at their feet。 Now me； I got it different。 I married a real European； you know？ She don't speak so good English； but she's grateful。 。。。 Great with the kids； great with me； and I still get excited when I see her。 Not like these fuckin' princesses over here。〃
〃That's an extremely interesting； even visceral； statement；〃 said the psychiatrist。
〃It's who？〃
〃Nothing。 I still want to get out of here without her seeing me leave。 I have some money…〃
〃Hold the money； who is she？〃
Both men went to the door and Panov pulled it back a few inches。 〃She's the one over there； the blonde' who keeps looking in this direction and at the front door。 She's getting very agitated…〃
〃Holy shit；〃 interrupted the short trucker。 〃That's the Bronk's wife！ She's way off course。〃
〃Off course？ The Bronk？〃
〃He trucks the eastern routes； not these。 What the hell is she doing here？〃
〃I think she's trying to avoid him。〃
〃Yeah；〃 agreed Mo's panion。 〃I heard she's been messing around and don't charge no money。〃
〃Do you know her？〃
〃Hell； yeah。 I been to a couple of their barbecues。 He makes a hell of a sauce。〃
〃I have to get out of here。 As I told you； I have some money…〃
〃So you told me and we'll discuss it later。〃
〃Where？〃
〃In my truck。 It's a red semi with white stripes； like the flag。 It's parked out front； on the right。 Get around the cab and stay out of sight。〃
〃She'll see me leave。〃
〃No she won't。 I'm goin' over and give her a big surprise。 I'll tell her all the CBs are hummin' and the Bronk is headin' south to the Carolinas…at least that's what I heard。〃
〃How can I ever repay you？〃
〃Probably with some of that money you keep talkin' about。 Not too much； though。 The Bronk's an animal and I'm a born…again Christian。〃 The short trucker swung back the door； nearly shoving Panov back into the wall again。 Mo watched as his conspiratorial colleague approached the booth； his conspiratorial arms extended as the trucker embraced an old friend and started talking rapidly； the woman's eyes were attentive…she was mesmerized。 Panov rushed out of the men's room； through the diner's entrance and toward the huge red…and…white…striped truck。 He crouched breathlessly behind the cab； his chest pounding； and waited。
Suddenly； the Bronk's wife came racing out of the diner； her platinum hair rising grotesquely in the air behind her as she ran to her bright red automobile。 She climbed inside and in seconds the engine roared； she continued north as Mo watched； astonished。
〃How are y'doing； buddy…wherever the hell you are？〃 shouted the short man with no name who had not only amazingly stopped a nosebleed but had rescued him from a manic wife whose paranoid mood swings were rooted in equal parts of vengeance and guilt。
Stop it； asshole； cried Panov to himself as he raised his voice。 〃Over here 。。。 buddy！〃
Thirty…five minutes later they reached the outskirts of an unidentified town and the trucker stopped in front of a cluster of stores that bordered the highway。 〃You'll find a phone there； buddy。 Good luck。〃
〃Are you sure？〃 asked Mo。 〃About the money； I mean。〃
〃Sure I'm sure；〃 replied the short man behind the wheel。 〃Two hundred dollars is fine…maybe even what I earned…but more than that corrupts； don't it？ I been offered fifty times that to haul stuff I won't haul； and you know what I tell 'em？〃
〃What do you tell them？〃
〃I tell 'em to go piss into the wind with their poison。 It's gonna flash back and blind 'em。〃
〃You're a good person；〃 said Panov； climbing out onto the pavement。
〃I got a few things to make up for。〃 The door of the cab slammed shut and the huge truck shot forward as Mo turned away； looking for a telephone。
〃Where the hell are you？〃 shouted Alexander Conklin in Virginia。
〃I don't know！〃 answered Panov。 〃If I were a patient； I'd ponderously explain that it was an extension of some Freudian dream sequence because it never happens but it happened to me。 They shot me up； Alex！〃
〃Stay cold。 We assumed that。 We have to know where you are。 Let's face it； others are looking for you； too。〃
〃All right； all right。 。。。 Wait a minute！ There's a drugstore across the street。 The sign says 'Battle Ford's Best；' will that help？〃
The sigh on the line from Virginia was the reply。 〃Yes； it does。 If you were a socially productive Civil War buff rather than an insignificant shrink； you'd know it； too。〃
〃What the hell does that mean？〃
〃Head for the old battleground at Ford's Bluff。 It's a national landmark； there are signs everywhere。 A helicopter wil