Spade Davis lifts the hood, watching in dismay as steam and smoke poured out. He stares back down the road, "Well, that just about sunk the boat, I gu...ss." He opens the door, puts the transmission in neutral, cramps the wheels and pushes the old worn out truck down into the ditch. He grabs his sports bag with all his worldly belongings, kicks the old truck's fender and starts walking. Spade Davis is a big man, six foot four, two hundred thirty pounds of solid muscle. Broad shoulders, square. “Which of you want to explain these?” he asked, unimpressed at the clear teeth-marks.I winced, but pushed my collar down, showing my own matching set. “Self-defense,” I claimed ardently.Mrs. Mortimer looked over her daughter’s love-bites and snorted. “They’re not so bad, Stephen,” she scolded him lightly. “Let’s sit down and they can tell us as much as is our business.” She pushed Jessie into the kitchen and gestured for me to follow. I could feel her father’s stare at the back of my head all. More

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