Virgil looked at him for a moment, then asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“As a favor to Del,” Wayne said.

“Wayne was supplying medical marijuana to some needy people—”

“Injured veterans,” Wayne said.

“—and was found to have twenty kilos of primo Mexican weed in the back of his Camaro,” Capslock said.

“The whole thing was a total misunderstanding,” Wayne said. “One of my friends put it there. I didn’t even know about it.”

“What happened to his friend?” Virgil asked Capslock.

“He returned to his residence in Juárez. He refuses to come back and testify on Wayne’s behalf,” Capslock said. “A group of us law enforcement officers pointed out to the county attorney that Wayne has insights into several local criminal enterprises. An arrangement was made.”

“I gotta do two thousand hours of community service,” Wayne said. “Two thousand hours. Jesus Christ and all the fuckin’ Apostles didn’t do that many.”

“Careful,” Capslock said. “Virgil’s the son of a preacher.”

“Well, then, I apologize to you, your dad, Jesus Christ, and all the fuckin’ Apostles—the whole fuckin’ bunch of you.”

Virgil: “I’m losing track of the conversation. You have a friend who knows somebody who was fucking a famous professor?”

“Yeah. At the U.”

“What’s your friend’s name? Not China White?”

“Paisley.”

“Paisley what?”

“Just Paisley. Some of the guys call her Paisley Tied because, you know . . .”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Like a necktie.”

Wayne glanced at Capslock, then looked back at Virgil. “Necktie? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Virgil said, “What?”

Wayne said, “No neckties. She’s called that because you can tie her up. Or she can tie you up. Strictly voluntary. Costs extra, of course.”

Capslock laughed, and asked the world, “We’re talking about a classy chick, are we not?”

“Where can I find her?” Virgil asked. “Paisley?”

“You gotta call her and she’ll meet you. I got her number. Tell her that she was recommended by Richard. Ask her what facilities she offers,” Wayne said. “That way, she’ll know you know about the tie thing.”

“I’ll do that,” Virgil said. “And Wayne? If word leaks back to her before I get there, you’ll be doing six thousand hours.”

Wayne looked at Capslock. “This guy’s an asshole, Del. You said he was okay.”

Capslock shrugged, and said, “Wayne, we can all be assholes. Isn’t that the way of the world? Assholes everywhere. You’re an asshole, I’m an asshole . . .”

Wayne took a swig of beer, tipped the bottle at Virgil. “And this guy’s an asshole. You’re right, Del. Assholes everywhere. Six thousand hours, shit snackin’ crackers.”

* * *

—

Virgil thought to go somewhere with Capslock to make the call to Paisley, but Capslock said, “Why not now?”

“You mean here?”

“Yeah. Here. I mean, we’re already sitting down.”

“Tell her you met Richard here, at the Territorial,” Wayne said.

Virgil laid his phone faceup on the table so everybody in the booth could hear and he called. A man answered. “Who’s this?”

Virgil: “Could I speak to, uh, Paisley?”

“She ain’t here. Who are you?”

“Bob.”

“Why do you want Paisley, Bob?”

“My friend Richard recommended that I take her out, you know, on a date.”

“Richard, huh? Tall black dude with this bald spot?”

Wayne was shaking a finger, and mouthed, Short . . . white . . .

Virgil said, “Well, uh, this guy was a sort of short white guy. I met him down at the Territorial.”

After a moment of silence, the man said, “Wait one. Paisley walked in.”

A woman came on a minute later, and asked, “What’d Richard say about me?”

“He said to ask what facilities you offer.”

“Well, Bob, what exactly do you need?”

“He said some people call you Paisley Tied. And, you know . . .”

“Are you here in town, Bob?”

“I’m from Mankato. I’m staying at the Graduate tonight.”

“Huh. Nice place. Okay, it’s a date. I’ll meet you at the Applebee’s. How will I recognize you?”

“I’m wearing an old Led Zeppelin T-shirt that just says ‘Zep’ and a sport coat, and I have blond hair down over my ears.”

“Ooo, sounds handsome. Half hour from now?”

“See you then,” Virgil said.

* * *

—

Virgil and Capslock said good-bye to Wayne as they all walked out to the street, and just before they parted, Wayne said, “Del, for extra credit . . .”

“Like what?”

“If you could put me down for like a hundred hours picking up trash on St. Dennis Road?”

“That’s a lot of trash,” Capslock said. “What do you have?”

“A warning?”

“Let’s hear it.”

Wayne said to Virgil, “That guy you talked to? That’s Paisley’s brother. The word is, he flunked out of the Vikings offensive line for being too mean. I swear to God, the guy could pull the arms off a gorilla.”

Virgil went with that. “Okay.”

Wayne turned to Capslock and lifted his eyebrows.

“I’ll think about it,” Capslock said.

* * *

—

   A half hour later, Virgil was in a booth at the Applebee’s, looking at a cheeseburger and a Diet Coke, and Capslock was across the room, talking to a waitress about her impending motherhood. Paisley walked in, but nobody turned to look. She was a nondescript, slender, dark-haired woman with a soft face, a mole under one eye, and dark eyebrows that nearly met in the middle. She was carrying an oversized leather purse. She was alone.