Ed:  Sam?  You?

Sam:  Yes, me.  Beth's a little slipperier, but I'll be seeing her soon
enough.

Ed:  She had nothing to do with that.  Hell, I had nothing to do with that!

Sam:  You expect me to believe you?

Ed:  I was taught that the entire American legal system is based on the
premise that a person is innocent until proven guilty.

A big hand slammed down on the desk in front of me.  I decided to keep
further attempts at remedial civics to myself.

Ed:  Honestly, Sam, Beth knows nothing.  And I can't be farting around 
here forever, I have young children at home.

Sam:  One of those young 'children' is every bit as big as I am, so I think 
he'll be more than able to hold the fort for a while.  Now maybe you'd like
to tell me what that was all about.

Ed:  Do I have an option?

I was favored with one of Sam's flat stares.

Ed:  Didn't think so.  What am I supposed to be able to tell you?

Sam:  You and Strannix have been an item for some time...

Ed:  Item?  ITEM??  Issue, maybe, sir, but hardly an item!  Beth's closer
to him than I am, he just bugs hell out of me when she chases him off.

Sam:  That a fact?

Ed:  Oops.

Sam:  Biggs!  Get me Renfro and Poole!  Now!

Ed:  Sam, she doesn't know all that much, either.

Sam:  Does she know what this is?

Sam dangled a key in front of me.

Ed:  Where'd you get that?

Sam:  That redhead of yours, with the guinea pigs...Tristan...

Ed:  It's nothing.  Have a word with that little yardape...

Sam:  If it's nothing, why does it upset you to see me with it?  Why 
won't you take your eyes off it?

Ed:  It's nothing to you, I mean.  It's just one of my keys.

Sam:  The redhead said you said it was 'Billy's'.

Ed:  You believe everything you're told?

Sam:  What's it for?

Sam moved closer to my chair.  His size was intimidating, to say the 
least.

Ed:  I have no idea.  A lock someplace, I suppose.

Sam:  Where did you get it?

Ed:  Billy dropped it in my car.  It must have fallen out of his pocket. 
I found it after I sent him toddling.

Sam:  Sure he didn't give it to you?

Ed:  Oh, I'm sure.  People give things to Billy, usually.  He doesn't
give things to people, unless you count headaches.

Sam:  How do you know about that?

Ed:  How do you think?  Beth's told me a little bit.

Sam:  How much does she know?

Ed:  I don't know.  She knows I have...HAD the key, but not what it was 
for.

Sam bent over my chair.  We were nose to nose.  I was pretty darned
unnerved, a fact which didn't escape the Deputy.

Sam:  Where does he live?

Ed:  You're asking me?

Sam:  Lubbock?

Ed:  Maybe, maybe not.  He's never favored me with a mailing address.

Sam:  He comes to you?

Ed:  That's right.  I think he has my house bugged, or he's paying one 
of my boys to tell him when I'm interviewing someone because he manages
to turn up even when I haven't said a word to him about what I'm up to.

Sam:  Interviewing?  You a journalist?

Ed:  Check my file.

Sam:  Watch it.  Who do you interview?

Ed:  What does it matter?

Sam:  It matters because I say it does.

Ed:  oh, brother.  You won't be able to talk to most of them.

Sam (as though he hadn't heard me):  New Orleans was Roy Foltrigg.  I was
able to confirm that with him.  But who was One-ten Grant Place, the
Lakeville Family Restaurant amd the woods just north of...what's this?

Ed:  Bemidji.  Who wrote that?

Sam:  Never mind.  Who did you talk to?

Ed:  I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.

Biggs was apparently unable to resist.  He stuck his head through the
door.

Biggs:  NObody expects the Spanish Inquisition

Sam:  Don't you have something to do?

Biggs took the hint.  To his credit, he didn't need to hear it twice.

Sam (to me):  Just answer the question.

Ed:  Okay.  Both One-ten Grant and the Flakeville...

Sam:  Where?

Ed:  God protect me from literal people.  The Lakeville, then, and One-ten
Grant were both meetings with Ty Cobb.  Up in the toolies I had the chance
to talk with Agent K of the MIB.

Sam:  Never heard of the MIB.

Ed:  That's the idea.

Sam:  Where can I find him?

Ed:  You can't.

Sam:  He has to be somewhere.

Ed:  He is, but you're not supposed to know where.

Sam:  He's an agent of some government...

Ed:  Not government.  They ask too many questions.

Sam moved in closer.  I stood my ground.  It was tough, but it was
worth it.  He smelled wonderful. 

Sam:  I'm getting cranky.  Don't make me cranky.

Ed:  All right, all right, all right!  Agent K of the MIB keeps track of 
resident aliens domiciled...

Sam:  INS takes care of resident aliens, girl.  Don't shit me.

Ed:  Not illegals with no green card, fool.  I mean aliens, Area 51, little
green take-us-to-your-leader men.  Extra-terrestrials.  Phone home, even.

Sam:  Now I've heard it all.

Ed:  You asked.

Sam moved even closer.  He was thinking that if he got far enough into
my space, he would be able to rattle me.  To my great surprise, it wasn't
working as well as I thought it might.

Ed:  Sure you wouldn't rather just sit in my lap?

Sam:  So, you've talked to a dead man, some sort of phony spook, a Federal
attorney, the Director of the Office of Emergency Management for the City
of Los Angeles, and me.  What do we all have in common?

I decided to push, just to see if I could.

Ed:  You're all just so darn cute I can hardly stand it.

Sam gave me another dose of the old hairy eyeball.

Sam:  I can hold you for up to twenty-four hours, you know?

Ed:  Your warning is duly noted.  Sam, it's simple.  You've all been the
subject of films starring Tommy Lee Jones.

Sam:  Oh, hell.  Is that all?

Ed:  That's all.

Sam:  How do you talk to a dead man?

Ed:  You don't.  You talk to whoever he's using to talk to you.

Sam:  Where does Strannix fit into all this?

Ed:  Anyplace he wants!  He had a film made about his little field trip
to the Missouri, too, you know!

Sam:  Have you ever talked to your actor buddy?  Jones?

Ed:  He is not my buddy and the answer is no, I've never spoken to him.  
The thought terrifies me.

Sam:  I don't?

Ed:  You're not Tommy. you're Sam.  What can I say, I've dealt with police
before.  Actors and their egos...that's another thing.

Sam:  Damn, woman.

Ed:  Damn, Sam!

Sam stormed out of the office, and I thought he might be looking for
something to plant his foot in.  Then he steamed right back.

Sam:  If I didn't like you.

Ed:  I don't mean to be a pain, Sam, but I don't have any answers for you.
I don't know anything.  I edit a webpage of my own construction.  You've
agreed to make the occasional contribution, as time permits.  There are 
others who do the same.  Billy Strannix is one of them.  So, sue me.

I hoped I was shovelling this bull with sinple dignity.  I felt like a
poseur.  Sam collapsed into the desk chair opposite me, twirling the key
idly around his index finger.

Sam:  Are you sure bringing Beth in wouldn't help.  I want this mutt.

Ed:  I didn't say that.  Take her to dinner, show her a good time...off
the record, Deputy Marshal.  You don't know what might come of it.

Sam:  No point.  None of it would be admissible in court.

Ed:  Who said anything about court??

Sam:  I can't...

Ed:  Can't what?  Eat dinner with a nice lady who thinks the world of you,
or can't use anything she says while you do.

Sam:  You're trying to set me up.

Ed:  What gave it away?  You big, dumb, thickheaded cop!  You do okay in 
the female department.  Geez, your own boss looks at you like you're a
popsicle and it's a hot day!  And you practically need to peel that little
reporter off your hide!

Sam:  What do you care?

Ed:  What do you care what I care?

Sam:  Biggs!  Where's Cosmo!  Somebody get me directory assistance...

Ed:  You done with me, Sam?

Sam:  Go on, get out of here.  I'll have somebody take you to the airport.

I scuttled out before he could change his mind.  As I was leaving, I
heard him talking to Lubbock directory assistance.