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“Not as much as I missed them.”

Juvenile Detention Facility. Great Falls.

About a quarter to twelve, I pulled into the visitors’ lot and found a parking spot. “I’ve got to go in and sign for him. Won’t be long.”

“I’ll wait here with the dogs.”

“You’ll have to.”

Billy chuckled.

My contact at the detention center was a woman named Loretta Clarke. I asked for her at reception and was escorted to her office.

“Mrs. Clarke, I’m Sheriff Travis Frost.”

Sitting in a chair next to her desk was a good-sized kid—maybe about five eight, medium build—a little on the thin side, with longish brown hair and brown eyes.

“This is Harlan Lindley, Sheriff. Just a few formalities and you and Harlan can be on your way.” She turned and smiled at Harlan, and he wasn’t smiling—not a bit.

Several pages of documents had my name pre-printed on the appropriate lines and I had to sign in four places to accept full responsibility for Harlan. I was taking over his well-being, providing him with the necessities of life, and getting him to his parole officer once a month, and a few other details.

When the signing was done and I had a copy of the paperwork, Mrs. Clarke stood up to escort us out.

Harlan picked up a brown paper bag and I figured that bag held everything he owned in the world. The bag wasn’t big enough to hold more than a t-shirt and a pair of socks.

“Thanks for everything,” I said to Mrs. Clarke. “I realize you had to rush the paperwork. Appreciate it, ma’am.”

She gave us a wave as we headed for the parking lot.

Harlan stared at the Bronco with the Harrison County sheriff’s department logo on it. “Jesus, I have to ride in a fuckin cop car. Hope nobody sees me.” He glanced up at the dorm windows.

“Yep. You’re mine now, buddy. You’re one of the good guys.” I opened the passenger door and told Max to get in the back seat with Billy.

“Holy fuck, we got us K-9s too? I need a fuckin smoke.”

“Get in,” I said, “and you can have one of mine.”

Harlan climbed into the front seat, and I noticed a scar on his left cheek and another one on his neck. Shivs. The kids had been playing rough.

“That’s Billy in the back.” I passed Harlan my pack of American Spirits.

He picked up the lighter out of the cup holder and flicked it. “My worst nightmare getting paroled to a fuckin cop.”

Billy laughed. “Two cops.”

“Jesus on a cracker. You guys got any weed?”

“No weed, but I’m starving. How about lunch?”

“Drive-thru for me,” said Billy. “I can’t go into a restaurant.”

“Right. Drive-thru it is.”

Harlan twisted around in his seat so he could see Billy. “What happened to your leg?”

“Chopped it half off with an axe. Got a couple pins in it, so I’m off work.”

“Cop work, right?”