Chapter One

A bit of trouble with attempted murder sent Jeb Nubey over the Texarkana border in the unfortunate direction of hunger. Everybody from the Texas side had gotten the wrong idea about the matter. If he had been a man of means, he would've been thought of as a stand-up guy instead of feller-on- the-run. That was all stand-up men were, he figured-the ones who could stand up with their pockets full of pay-offs and get fellers to see things in a new light. But now none of the itinerant boys-buddies he'd on many nights shared a bottle of the good stuff with-would talk to him. Once word spread of problems with the boss man, they just turned their sorry backs and walked away.

He'd never thought he would hear his name preceded by "no account," as in no-account scum, no-account filth-of-the-earth. Worthless. Shiftless. Twenty-two years after his momma had given him the good name of Jeb, he'd descended to the rank Leon Hampton had awarded him-Leon and his son, Hank, who could never keep a gal on his tight-fisted leash due to his alcohol-infused temper.

The gal, Myrna. The Betty Boop gal. Round hips. Red lips. "Last night, I nearly killed a man. Maybe I did kill him. Now no one will talk to me," said Jeb. "Hank got was coming to him," Jeb's brother Charlie said.

"But you got to hide, lay low until things simmer down in Texarkana. Until Hampton forgets your name." Hamptons owned everything in Texarkana, from the burlesque girls no one admitted worked for a nickel a dance down at the Biscuit and Bean, to the banking king who kept his doors open on Black Monday when the other Savings and Loans had closed.

"It's cowardly, Charlie. I ain't a running-away sort,"

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