HE DOVE, DYING TO GET OFF that perch, showed Charlie a flying reverse pike and ripped his entry without seeing the water, came up with his face raised to smooth his hair back and could hear Charlie out there clapping his hands. Dennis pulled himself up to the walk that circled the rim of the tank, rolled his body over it, hung and dropped to the ground.

Charlie stood waiting for him in the early dark.

"That was pretty, what I could see of it. We got to get you a spotlight."

"Charlie, they shot Floyd." Dennis saying it and wiping his hands over his face. "They took him back there and shot him five times. The little guy. He had what looked like a twenty-two, like a target pistol." All Charlie did was nod his head and Dennis said, "Maybe he's still alive."

That got him shaking his head. "They want him dead, that's what he is."

"Charlie, you know those guys? Who are they?"

Now he looked busy thinking and didn't answer.

"The one in the cowboy hat," Dennis said, "I thought at first he was a sheriff's deputy or a state trooper."

Charlie said, "You ought to see him with his sword. When they dress up as Confederates and refight the Civil War. But listen to me. You don't know nothing about this."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." "Floyd. What you saw. You weren't here, so you didn't see nothing. I'm the one found the body." "You want to protect those guys?"

"I'm keeping it simple, so neither one of us sticks our neck out."