David tapped the end of the shotgun. “Tell me, Dewey. If you put that barrel in your mouth, are you able to reach the trigger or is the gun too long?”
“Dunno.”
“Why don’t you try?”
“Okay.”
Hobson picked up the long weapon, turned it so the barrel pointed at his face, then wrapped his lips around the end. His hands slipped down the barrel to the stock, then found the trigger guard. It was a stretch, but he could reach.
“That’s good, Dewey. You can take it out. I have a few more questions for you.”
Hobson removed the gun, set the weapon back on his lap, then wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve.
“Did you ever have any children, Dewey?”
Hobson shook his head.
“Are you sure? A player like you?”
“I’m sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because they wanted the children. I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t what?”
“Give them my children.”
“The children you never had.”
Hobson said nothing.
“Because if you did have children, and somehow didn’t tell me, didn’t tellus, that would be bad.”
The sweat at his brown began to trickle down. “I don’t have children.”
“I believe you, Dewey,” David said, although not quite convinced it was really true. “There’s something else I need you to tell me, something really important. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah.”
“I need you to tell me where I can find the others.”
“You killed the others.”
“Not all of them. The last few have been slippery, like you.” David leaned forward. “Where are they, Dewey?”
Hobson began to shake, his face turning red. He didn’t want to, but he spoke anyway. “I only know where Cammie is. And she may not be there no more. She likes to stay on the move.”
“How do you stay in touch?”
Hobson said nothing.
“Dewey…”
“Dalton tracks all of us, helps us organize.”
“And where can I find Dalton?”
