The spreading oaks along the two-lane road were black and dripping with water. The rain had slackened, and when I rolled my window partly down I could smell the sugarcane and the wet earth in the fields. The ditches on both sides of the road were high with rainwater.
"I got to use the can," Jimmie Lee Boggs said.
Neither Lester nor I answered.
"I ain't kidding you, I gotta go," he repeated.
"You should have gone back there," I said.
"I asked. He told me to shut up."
"You'll have to hold it," I said.
"What'd you come back to this stuff for?" Lester said.
"I'm into some serious debt," I said.
"How bad?"
"Enough to lose my house and boat business."
"I'm going to get out one of these days. Buy me a place in Key Largo. Then somebody else can haul the freight. Hey, Boggs, didn't the mob have enough work for you in Florida?"
"What?" Boggs said. He was leaning forward on the seat, looking out the side window.
"You didn't like Florida? You had to come all the way over here to kill somebody?" Lester said. When he smiled, the edge of his mouth looked like putty.
"What do you care?" Boggs asked him.
"I was just curious."
Boggs was silent. His face looked strained, and he shifted his buttocks back and forth on the seat.
"How much did they pay you to do that bar owner?" Lester said.
"Nothing," Boggs said.
"Just doing somebody a favor?" Lester continued.