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His hearing was also bad, but his sons words and phrases drifted through and he understood.
Flub said, Jesus, Clint, whod have thought it would come to this.
Clint Bonner swallowed and closed the door.
Flub put a briefcase on Jacks dresser and dug a silver dollar out More Page Vayama of his trouser pockets. He flipped chicken pepperoni
coin high into the air, saying, You call it, little brother. Itll be heads. Heads it was. Flub lost. He stared at the coin, transfixed. Jack, watching this, knew what it was about. He wanted to talk to them, to encourage them. They More Page Vayama were doing this themselves, not hiring someone like a couple of pussies. john nalbone
were being men, damn them, and he was proud of them. He remembered little Flub walking to the plate for his first at bat in the little leagues, remembered Flub taking practice cuts, More Page Vayama remembered him swinging from his heels at the first pitch. Flub, his eyes watering, flopped into a chair. Jack thought. children s week
what you have to do. Flub. Its gotta be done, Flub, Clint said. Listen to your brother. Jack thought. Why couldnt he have popped off like everybody else? The old More Page Vayama son of a bitch earned himself enough money to buy anything he wanted except a ticket out of it all. We shouldnt have let danny gans las vegas
go on like this. Flubs voice turned soft, regretful. He cant even watch the fucking Oilers. Jack wanted to get up and More Page Vayama comfort his sons. They were thirty-seven and thirty-nine but still kids to him. He felt proud that they looked like him at their age. Flub in particular looked like his clean water act
He wanted to hold them.
I think we lost Cactus Jack a couple of years ago, More Page Vayama Flub. This aint the old son of a bitch who used to cuss us out all the time.
Flub wiped his eyes with his sleeve and opened the briefcase. He started to water up again when he 
clean water act
up the hypodermic. With tears in his eyes he More Page Vayama sat at his fathers side. Poor old fucker, he said. He cradled Jacks cadaverous, nearly hairless skull. Clint took a chair at his brothers side and gripped Flub in the shoulder. Get it over with, Flub. Jack remembered the little Flubber taking his cuts mike mizanin
little league, swinging More Page Vayama that bat for all he was worth. He was Jack Bonners kid, by God, and he stood up there and swung the bat; he didnt Mickey Mouse around hoping to draw a walk. Jack, I know you dont understand us, but for whatever its worth Clint More Page Vayama and I thought we chicken pepperoni
have done this a long time ago. If you can hear us, we loved you, old man. You bet, said Clint. Were sorry we made you wait, Jack, but listen to this; if we speed your parting up a little, Bonner Oil stands More Page Vayama to clear six billion bucks over the next ten years. Six nfl draft grades
bucks, Dad. Gonna grease a Chinks palm. Jack tried to smile. His mouth opened and he made a small sound. He was proud of his sons. Thinking all the time, they were. They made every ace More Page Vayama count, every bullet, just as hed taught them. He was so damned proud. Clint said, Look at john nalbone
will you? The old fuckers smiling. Cactus Jacks oldest son, weeping, slid the needle home, and the old man, watching the Flubber swing the bat at six billion bucks, died More Page Vayama happy. When Lucien Salvant returned to Quantrell College, the death of Cactus Jack Bonn.
