"Wait." Mrs. Hacket stiffened. "Didn't that—what was his name? The Red—that old one. Didn't he have a beard? Marx. He had a beard."
Ed laughed. "This ain't Karl Marx. I saw a photograph of him once."
Mrs. Hacket was staring at him. "You did?"
"Sure." He flushed a little. "What's the matter with that?"
"I'd sure like to know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think we ought to know more, for our own good."
"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"
Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Two young kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride? Sure."
Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas and the car roared down the highway.
"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walk between towns, but it was farther than I thought."