“Where you from anyway?”

“I live down in Miami.”

“I been there once or twice. Man, all the spies, huh? My dad’s never been to Palm Beach or seen the ocean. Never got any closer’n Twenty Mile Bend. You believe it? Spent his whole life over there around Belle Glade, Canal Point, Pahokee…” He waited, eyes on the road before saying, “You know, if we was to get off near Stuart we could take Seventy-six over to the lake, run on down to Belle Glade-it wouldn’t be more’n a few miles out of the way and I’d get to see my folks. I mean just stop and say hi, kiss my old mom…” Dale Junior turned to look at the marshal. “What would you say to that?” He waited and said, “Not much, huh?”

“Your old dad’s never been to Palm Beach or seen the ocean,” the marshal said, “but he’s been up to Starke, hasn’t he? He’s seen the Florida state prison. You have an uncle came out of there, Elvin Crowe, and another one did his time at Lake Butler. I think we’ll skip visiting any of your kin this trip.”

Dale Junior said, “My uncles’re both dead.”

And the marshal said, “By gunshot, huh? You understand how I see your people?”

Now he said, “You can speed it up some.”

Dale Junior looked over at him. “You want me to break the law?”

Raylan didn’t answer, staring at the open vista of flat land to the east, what he imagined the plains of Africa might be like.

“We could use some gas.”

“We’ll make it,” Raylan said.

“Fort Drum service plaza’s coming up.”

Raylan didn’t say anything to that.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

This time Raylan said, “I’ll see you get something at the jail.”

“I ain’t had a regular meal,” Dale Junior said, “since the day I was arrested, and you know what it was? A hamburger and fries, some onion rings. That night for supper I had potato chips. See, all day I was out looking for work. I had a job, working for a paint contractor? Scraped down and sanded this entire goddamn two-story house and the guy lets me go.