Maybe. Galveston is where images to blog I started out. I'm having a couple of drinks in Broussard. Hey, guys like us were the real cops, weren't we?

No, we weren't, I thought. But I had learned long ago not to argue with those who need to revise the past. I drove on the images to blog old Lafayette highway to the little town of Broussard, crossed the train tracks, and parked in front of a low-roofed bar whose cracked windows were held together with silver tape and framed with Christmas tree lights. The interior was dark, the air refrigerated, the cigarette smoke curling through an exhaust fan in back. Bad Texas Bob was at the bar, hunkered over a shot glass and draft beer, wearing a gray suit, string tie, cowboy boots, and a short-brim Stetson canted on the side of his head. He wore expensive jewelry, smoked gold-tipped, lavender cigarettes, and tried to affect an aura of contentment and prosperity. But the years had not been kind to Bob. His teeth were as long as a horse's, his face emaciated, the backs of his hands brown with liver spots. Bad Texas Bob was the nightmare that every cop fears he might become. No other place will images to blog have me. How you been doing, Bob? I do a little consulting work. I work part-time at the casino in Lake Charles. Billy Joe Pitts says you were interested in a whore by the name of - He snapped his fingers at the air. He tossed back his images to blog whiskey and chased it with the draft beer, then wiped the salt from the beer glass off his mouth. "Yeah, that was her name. I knew her. What do you want to know?"

His eyes were level images to blog with mine – watery, iniquitous, harboring thoughts or memories of a kind you never want to guess at, the skin at the corners as wrinkled as a turtle's.

Want: images to blog