In an Irish accent the cheeky round face said, ‘Top o’ the morning to you.’ He winked at Jeffers, then surged from the rear of the bus into a dive that became a forward roll that turned into a three foot dwarf standing on the tarmac.

The dwarf spread his arms wide, gave a weak ‘Tada,’ and then he was running.

A torrent of dwarves poured from the rear of the bus. Jeffers made a grab, and for a half second in his hands was a squirming bitey dwarf that kicked loose, rolled, sat up, spat his way, and then was scrambling for freedom.

Lewis poked his head from the rear of the bus, mouthful of his bratwurst hoagie showing behind gaping lips. The dwarves were a scattering cloud of pumping arms and legs.

Jeffers had to wave his arms. ‘Christ, after them.’

Lewis and the uniformed cops took off back down the inside of the bus heading for the door at the front.

Jeffers muttered it – ‘Christ, Landlubbers.’

He was done with Kentucky and its heat and its sour mash head splitting whisky. Done most of all with these morons that rode buses across county lines to visit some bent doctor who’d write them up a script for twenty bucks a pop.

The driver of this Oxybus had this this dumb look on his face, Joey Pimento watching cops crab walking, squatting low as they tried to corral dwarves. A little further down the street the first dwarf was hoping table to table in front of a steak house, a uniformed cop keeping pace with him from the sidewalk.

Two minutes previous Pimento had been cocky, full of grins that he was the sole occupant of this otherwise completely empty schoolbus.

Jeffers said, ‘Not something you see everyday.’

Something dinked against his left foot. A bottle of pills still rolling gently side to side. The label on it said Oxycontin.

A big smile came to his face.

Jeffers said, ‘One hundred percent pure, uncut, Hillbilly heroin.’

He grinned at Pimento.

‘Let me guess – you did a head count at the start, then you made sure your pill count matched the head count?’

Weakly, Pimento said, ‘No comment.’

Jeffers said, ‘What is for you? Two strikes already? Man, we catch you writing in a library book that’s five years, minimum. But driving an Oxybus across county lines?’ He whistled softly. ‘Twenty years, maybe? No parole.’

A shake of the head, then Pimento said, ‘Taking it to the bus-wash, no idea who they are. Must’ve snuck inside some place.’

Jeffers said, ‘Name of the doctor that wrote the prescriptions? Name of your boss? Come on man, work with me.’

Silence from Pimento.

Jeffers grinned, a thought coming to him.

He said, ‘Think they’ll call you Snow White in Jacksonville? Or is that what they’ll call your peachy white ass?’