Ratko was out of the parade. My memory was clear on that. Strange how the memory works. Just the other day I all of a sudden had a memory going way back to my puppyhood – at that crack house in South Pedroia. It’s actually not a very pleasant memory – my first pleasant memories come from the time in K-9 school, even the last day, because that last day, not perfect, was how come Bernie and I got together – so maybe I’ll go back to forgetting it soon.
But the point was: no possibility of Ratko, there in our house on Mesquite Road. So it wasn’t a surprise to me when Foster, dressed all in black, stepped out of the office. Our office, which was kind of annoying.
“You look surprised to see me,” Foster said.
Did Bernie look surprised? Yeah, he kind of did, and that was a surprise. This surprise no surprise thing was getting confusing.
“I’m surprised to see anyone in our house without an invitation,” Bernie said.
Foster smiled. “Got something even better than an invitation,” he said, taking some paper from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here’s a warrant, duly signed by a judge, almost totally sober at the time.”
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