I swallowed and took my eyes off him. Sat on the edge of the bed across from him and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands.

He plopped down across from me with those big paws on his big knees and said, “How the hell d’you manage it?”

“What?”

“Hauling my fat ass onto that Medivac.”

I grunted a laugh. “The same way a little mother lifts a Buick off her big baby.”

“In my case, you lifted the Buick onto the baby. Let me buy you breakfast.”

“Okay.”

In the hotel coffee shop, he said, “Funny…what you told me last night…about the business you used to be in?”

I sipped my coffee; I didn’t look at him-didn’t show him my eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m in the same game.”

Now I looked at him; I winced with disbelief. “What…?”

He corrected my initial thought. “The tourist game, I mean. I run a lodge near Brainerd.”

“No kidding.”

“That’s what this convention is. Northern Resort Owners Association.”

“I heard of it,” I said, nodding. “Never bothered to join, myself.”

Not by nature much of a joiner.

“I’m a past president,” he said, obviously proud of that. “Anyway, I run a place called Sylvan Lodge. My third and current, and I swear to God everlasting wife, Ruth Ann? Maybe I mentioned her last night? Anyway, Ruthie inherited it from her late parents, God rest their hardworking Republican souls.”

None of this came as a surprise to me. Grizzly bear Gary had always drawn women like a great big magnet-usually good-looking little women who wanted a father figure, Papa Bear variety. Even in Bangkok on R amp; R, Gary never had to pay for pussy, as we used to delicately phrase it.

“I’m happy for you,” I said. “I always figured you’d manage to marry for money.”

“My ass! I really love Ruth Ann. You should see the knockers on the child.”

“A touching testimonial if I ever heard one. Listen… about that bullshit I was spouting last night…”