Wilson Bates, looking wan and tired, was in the window side bed. When he saw Hank enter his expression brightened, and he grabbed the hand control and used it to raise himself into a sitting position as Hank and Logan approached. "Mister Crank." His voice was faint, but it didn't tremble. "Just the man I wanted to see."

Hank stood over the bed and reached down to shake hands, careful of the wires that connect the elderly man to various beeping machines. "Mister Bates. I'm glad to see you're up to having visitors."

He smiled. "Me, too. I was worried that I couldn't see my grandson, but he's twelve now, and the doctor said that he was sure Trey would be more of a help than a hindrance."

Hank set the plant and card down on the bedside table, next to a small framed photograph sitting on his bedside table. It showed a handsome couple, with a tall, slender boy. "Is this him? He looks a lot like you," said Hank.

"I'd like to think so." Wilson hooked a finger around a long, crinkly ribbon that led up to a shiny Mylar balloon. It was decorated with a cartoon character who had wildly spiked hair and huge eyes. His mouth was spread impossibly wide in a yell, and the caption was 'You WILL get well!' "Trey said his name is Vegeta. I wouldn't think that a vegetarian would look quite that aggressive."

"That's an anime character--Dragon Ball Z, I think." Logan gave him an amused look. "I baby-sit Eloise, okay? I'd have to stay out of the house not to learn something about those Japanese cartoons."

"Children are special, aren't they?" said Wilson fondly. "How old is your little girl?"

"She's my niece. She's seven, going on twenty-five, I think."

"I'm just glad I went ahead and got the supplemental insurance. I'm setting up a trust for Trey," said Wilson. "His dad is doing okay, but you know how expensive things are these days. Trey wants to be a naturalist. With any luck, I'll leave him enough to go to a good college." He sighed. "It's just so complicated. Mister Berryman, I know that isn't your field, but could you recommend someone who could help me figure out the best way to set that sort of thing up? I don't think I trust that lawyer who's been talking to me."

"He's been talking to you?" Hank asked. "You haven't been talking to him?"

"Technically, it goes both ways, but he came to me. He isn't my choice."

Logan said, "Wilson, there's pretty strict regulations about soliciting clients. Did he just show up on your doorstep, or what?"

"No, nothing like that. He contacted me about buying my interest in BLAB. He told me what a good investment it would be to sell it and invest the money--that I could set up a comfortable annuity, or maybe put it in CDs and earn good returns before Trey was old enough to take over it."

"You own part of the station?" Hank asked. "How much?"

"Two percent. Tobias is a wonderful man. I was one of the first people he signed up, and he gave me that as a signing bonus. I didn't ask, mind you--he just threw it in. That's why I have such a hard time believing that he did what they say he did. He's a generous man."

"He wasn't interested in buying for himself?"

"No, he said he was asking on behalf of an interested party."

"He didn't say who?" Wilson shook his head. "Could we get this lawyer's name and number from you?"

"Sure, I have his card, but I sent my wallet home with my daughter." He gestured toward the phone. "If I could talk you into handing me that, and dialing for me?"

They did, and soon Hank and Logan were armed with the business address and phone number of Averill Montrose. "Does this have anything to do with all the nonsense that has been going on at the station?"

"It might."

"Good. I hope you nail the SOB. I'm an old coot now, but that doesn't mean I want to give up the time I have left, and I'm pretty sure that farce shaved some off." He paused. "Is the snake all right?"

"I might have bruised him a little when I stepped on him to hold him down, but he was active enough when his owner bagged him up."

"I'm glad. I would have hated it if anything happened to him. Rattlesnakes are fascinating creatures."

"You're a forgiving sort," said Logan.

Wilson waved. "Hell, son, I can't fault an animal for doing something that Nature hard-wired into it. He was frightened. He just defended himself. Thank you for not killing him, Mister Crank."

"Think nothing of it, sir. I can't blame an animal like that." He smiled. "You can't train a snake. God just didn't make them that way."

They talked for a while longer. The nurse bustled in, nodding to the men. "Mister Crank, the doctor says it's fine."

Hank pulled the candy bar out of his pocket and offered it to Wilson. "I wasn't sure what kind you'd like, so I stuck with plain chocolate."

Wilson accepted it with a smile. "Thank you! Trey brought me some candy, but it was those sour Nerd things the kids like so much." He grimaced. "I love the boy, but the very thought of them makes my teeth ache." He fumbled in the tray table that had been rolled over his bed. "Orange/cherry." He offered them to Hank. "I've eaten a couple, so I can honestly tell Trey I had some. Please, take them."

Hank accepted them. "Much obliged. You take care of yourself, now. I'll try to come by again before I go back to Texas, but I sort of hope you aren't in here much longer."

On the way down in the elevator Hank shook a few of the little candies into his palm, and then popped them into his mouth. Logan was staring at him. "What? I happen to like these. You wouldn't believe how bad I got fussed out by Eloise that one time I raided her Halloween bag. It took me three trips to the Dairy Queen to be forgiven."

"Do you think that this lawyer is going to provide us with anything?"

"Lo, you're a lawyer--how often do you volunteer information about your clients?"

"Point taken."

"But it won't hurt to try. All he can do is laugh in my face. But first off, I think it might be a good idea to find out who owns the rest the business. So far we've accounted for ninety-four percent. I'm really interested in that last six percent. Who should we talk to about that?"

Logan mulled it over. "One reason this station hasn't picked up any quicker than it has is that it's ruled by committee--Marva, Suelynn, a court appointed executor for the three percent legacy vote."

"And the others?"

"The way I understand it, the executor notifies the other owners of all meetings. If they don't show up, their possible votes are disregarded. Naturally Marva and Suelynn are almost always on opposite sides, so it comes down to the executor. Sometimes he sides with one, sometimes he sides with the other."

"Do we know the name of this executor?" "I don't, but I suppose Tina would be able to find out." He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. "Hey, Tina." He listened, smiling. "Yeah. I need some info from you. Do you know the name of the lawyer who's been refereeing between Marva and Suelynn on station matters? Yeah, the one in charge of the three percent legacy. No, not right away. We can get the info when we swing by for lunch." His face lit up. "Yeah? Sounds great. Sure. What do you want?" He laughed. "Are you sure about that? They may need to bathe Chase if he gets his hands on them. Oh, really?" He cast an amused glance at Hank. "I dunno. We're going to be with a law enforcement type. He might not approve. Love you, too." He hung up. "We're invited on a picnic, and we are to bring dessert. Tina suggested chocolate frosted mocha éclairs."

"That explains why you thought Chase might need to be hosed down afterwards," grinned Hank.

"Tina said we could let him paddle in the duck pond. It's actually more of a sunken cement pool, about knee deep, no chance of drop offs."

"Has Tina ever seen the state of water that's been given serious use by ducks? I'm pretty sure she'd change her mind. How about giving that Montrose fella a call?"

Logan tried the number Wilson Bates had given them, then glanced at Hank. "Answering machine before noon on a weekday. Class act. Yes, Mister Averill, this is Logan Berryman. I'm interested in talking with you concerning BLAB!--the talk show station. It's about some percentage points of that company. I've heard you might be interested in acquiring them. Give me a call at 555-1976. Looking forward to hearing from you." He hung up. "Hopefully that vague reference will make him think we have control of the swing votes, and are willing to deal."

"The scent of possible profit will lure some lawyers better than road kill will pull in a coyote. No offense meant, Lo."

"Ah, hell, Hank--I know that. If I'm not used to your colorful Texas vernacular by now..."

"Don't go turning into a California smart mouth on me, Lo. You're too good a Texas smart mouth to lose your professional standing."

They stopped at a bakery and picked up a dozen chocolate-mocha éclairs, then went by the station, going directly to the daycare center. Chase was waiting near the door, almost dancing up and down with excitement. He raced to them, saying, "Lo, Mister Hank, Mama got fried chicken!"

"I hope she got the crispy kind," said Hank. "That pressure cooked stuff just isn't right. I mean, it's perfectly good chicken, but it isn't fried chicken."

Chase was nodding vigorously. "The outside is all mushy-chewy 'stead of crunchy. But Mama says she gots to watch me, or I'll just eat the skin."

Hank rubbed his hair. "You're my kind of kid, Chase."

Chase grinned at him, then continued, "And we gots 'tatoe salad, and baked beans." He wrinkled his nose, "And carrots and celery, but you don't got to eat them 'less you want to. And biscuits, and sodas, and bread to feed the ducks." He cocked his head, eyeing their empty hands, and said accusingly, "And we're s'posed to have 'clairs from the bakery."

"Oh, ye of little faith," said Logan. Chase gave him a puzzled look. "That means they're in the car." Chase hugged his leg. Logan looked at Hank. "If only they'd stay so easy to please."

"What a handsome group of men," said Tina cheerfully, coming down the hall. "Ready? I have the basket in my trunk."

Hank knew that Logan loved Chase dearly, but time alone with your sweetheart should never be turned down. "Logan," said Hank. "Do you trust me to drive your truck?"

"Sure, buddy. Why?"

"I was just thinking that you might like to ride in with Tina, and Chase could keep me company." He smiled down at the little boy. "How about that, bo?"

"Yeah!"

"Suits me," said Logan.

Hank allowed Chase to scramble up into the truck by himself, then buckled him in. As Hank got behind the wheel, Chase said, "I like riding in Lo's truck, 'cause I don't hafta sit in the backseat, 'cause it has no back seat--like Mama's car."

"Well, technically truck's do have a back, but kids aren't allowed to ride in them anymore. It's sort of the death of a tradition, but I can't make myself upset about it."

"How come?"

"Because I was a State Trooper for a long time, Chase," Hank's expression grew sober, his eyes distant, as if he was once again seeing something tragic. "I saw some things..." He trailed off.

"What, Hank?"

Hank glanced at the little boy, then said, "I'll just say that there are some mamas and daddies who really wish they hadn't let their little boys and girls ride in the bed of a pickup truck. Did you say you were going to feed ducks?"

Chase lost interest in the previous discussion. "Yeah!" He giggled. "They're so funny. They step on each other, they're such piggies. And Mama says not to get too close to them because they might try to eat me up. One of 'em ate a button off my shirt once."

"I'm not in the least bit surprised."

"I could save some of the bread an' feed it to Chill Pill."

"That's nice of you to think of him, and I'm sure he'd appreciate it, but we have plenty of snacks back at Logan's place. You ought to go ahead and feed all that to the ducks. They probably need it."

"Mama says they really don't. She says there's a reason why they waddle, and it's not just bowed legs."

"Your mama is a lady who knows how to tell it like it is."

The park was small, but green and pleasant. There were a few picnic tables, the promised cement duck pond, and a playground that Chase eyed with distinct covetousness. He pouted a little when he was told that he had to eat first, but a judicious application of potato salad and a drumstick settled him down. They had all decided, without having to consult, that they wouldn't discuss the recent goings on around Chase. They didn't want to upset the child. A noble, but ironic aim. Halfway through the meal, Chase said, "Hank, Mama told me someone urped in your hat. Did you put it on an' get puke all in your hair?"

Hank put down his forkful of baked beans. "No, Chase--thankfully that did not happen."

"Herbie Dahlwell once got sick in the reading circle. He puked in Suzie's lap, an' she clobbered him."

Tina said, "Okay, Chase."

"You could tell he had Crunchberry cereal for breakfast."

"Chase, please," said Tina.

"But Mom, it had two different colors of..."

Hank stood up. "Chase, I think those ducks look like they're about to starve to death. Why don't we go feed them?"

Hank led the little boy over to the pond, and spent a little while tearing bread into bits for the little boy to toss. The ducks did get a little aggressive, but Hank just hoisted Chase up on his hip, and the child finished feeding the ducks from a safe height. Chase was astonished that the ducks didn't seem to be afraid of someone Hank's size. Hank told them that these were probably city ducks, and thus had almost as little fear of man as the pigeons that hung around hospitals, "And those are the boldest feathered beasts I've ever seen."

After they'd disposed of the last crumbs, Chase trotted over to explore the playground. There were no other children so he had it in solitary splendor. Hank went back to the picnic table. As he sat down and began to finish his meal, Logan said, "Thanks, Hank. After last night, we really didn't need to be regaled with other upchuck anecdotes."

"Would you consider moving in with us when we're married? You'd make a kick-ass nanny," said Tina. Hank almost choked with laughter. "You even have a sense of humor about yourself."

Logan said, "Tina got the name of that lawyer. I think you'll find it interesting."

"Thrill me."

"Averill Montrose."

Hank sat back. "As in the collector of stray business points for people who are as yet nameless. Yeah, that's just a little bit thrilling."