Chapter 29

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I don't have to fight the urge to get up. Too tired. Sam must be the same way. Along with the rest of the bar. No one reacts. Just keep rowing through the ocean of pale beers.

Maybe it's just me? Maybe there wasn't a scream after all?

I look to Sam. She's listening with a perked ear. Must've heard it, too.

Someone turns the background music up. Way up. Sounds like George Straight is singing from inside my head. If there's another scream, no one is going to hear it.

The music returns to normal volume. I spot Les and the man in overalls returning to the bar. Shut that door on the far side behind them. They look happy. Beaming.

"Cheers," Les says when he wheels back to our table. Hoists a beer. "Problem solved."

He clinks each one of our glasses with his. Even the ones Sam and I didn't raise.

"What was that about?" Sam says.

Les and the man in overalls grin to each other.

"This oil boom is shaping up to be more and more like a war. Reminds me of the good ol' days when I was in the service. Miss 'em," Les says. Adjusts his Navy Vet hat. "That's an ugly truth. Veterans miss the action. There's nothing like it. A lot of 'em came home from Iraq and Afghanistan. Rebooted their lives working oil. But they never left the desert, if you catch my drift."

"From oil field to oil field," Sam says.

I spot a little blood on the tip of Les's cane.

"They want to play war out here, fine. But I'm from the old school. Vietnam. I don't play," Les says. Wipes his gray handlebar mustache on his sleeve. "When there's a problem, I don't get mad about it. I don't complain. I fix it."

"They say the first casualty of war is the truth," Sam says.

Les grins. "Trust me. The truth died out here a long time ago," he says.

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