"Problem here, miss?"

The policeman has returned, disgusted that he was not allowed to get far enough away from her to avoid picking up on the next approach.

Like flies on shit around here today, they are, he thinks.

Funny, though, how this guy doesn't look the type.

Probably an individual kink instead of the usual pimp, trying his luck.

This oughtta send him scurrying, though.

But it does not.

Instead "My good man, I happen to be Cranston, personal secretary to Randy Buck."

From his inside pocket, Cranston produces a card.

The policeman scrutinizes it.

Buck Enterprises, the guy's name, title-he's the genuine article, or so it would seem.

"I was passing through here on business of my employer when I noticed this young lady in need of assistance.

"Assistance, I might add, unless I am mistaken, which I doubt, that she was not about to get from you.

"Or am I wrong?"

The policeman glares at him, saying nothing.

"I thought as much.

"What is at issue here… officer?"

"Thought somebody was tryna pick ‘er up, is all," he mumbles.

"Which, in fact, I am. I don't deny it."

"Look. You know damn well what I mean! "You know, unless you're new on the job, in which case I can explain it to ya."

"Please don't bother.

"Although I must say, that hardly speaks well of my appearance."

And he manages a wintry smile.

"Tell you what, officer.

"Just to show that there're no hard feelings, please, take my card.

"That way, when you discover the young lady is wanted is wanted for murder in twenty states, you'll know exactly where to find her."

Daisy takes a deep breath, surprised, not understanding.

"But I-" she begins.

But Cranston holds up a hand, silencing her.

"Until then, the young lady has many veggies to plant. That is," turning toward her, "unless you've something better to do."