Chapter 3

           Everyhourwounds.Thelastonekills.

           -oldsaying

           TherewasathinyoungwomanbehindthecounterattheMotelAmerica.ShetoldShadowhehadalreadybeencheckedinbyhisfriend,andgavehimhisrectangularplasticroomkey.Shehadpaleblondehairandarodentlikequalitytoherfacethatwasmostapparentwhenshelookedsuspicious,andeasedwhenshesmiled.SherefusedtotellhimWednesday’sroomnumber,andinsistedontelephoningWednesdayonthehousephonetolethimknowhisguestwashere.

           Wednesdaycameoutofaroomdownthehall,andbeckonedtoShadow.

           "Howwasthefuneral?"heasked.

           "It’sover,"saidShadow.

           "Youwanttotalkaboutit?"

           "No,"saidShadow.

           "Good."Wednesdaygrinned."Toomuchtalkingthesedays.Talktalktalk.Thiscountrywouldgetalongmuchbetterifpeoplelearnedhowtosufferinsilence."

           Wednesdayledthewaybacktohisroom,whichwasacrossthehallfromShadow’s.Thereweremapsallovertheroom,unfolded,spreadoutonthebed,tapedtothewalls.Wednesdayhaddrawnalloverthemapsinbrightmarkingpens,fluorescentgreensandpainfulpinksandvividoranges.

           "Igothijackedbyafatkid,"saidShadow."Hesaystotellyouthatyouhavebeenconsignedtothedungheapofhistorywhilepeoplelikehimrideintheirlimosdownthesuperhighwaysoflife.Somethinglikethat."

           "Littlesnot,"saidWednesday.

           "Youknowhim?"

           Wednesdayshrugged."Iknowwhoheis."Hesatdown,heavily,ontheroom’sonlychair."Theydon’thaveaclue,"hesaid."Theydon’thaveaf**kingclue.