the blue car pulled up on yancey’s right.
a harmless looking little man with a round head and face looked out at yancey from the front seat.
“yancey clevenger?”
“yes, sir.”
“i’m oliver rogers, your parole officer.”
“yes, sir.”
“well, get in. i didn’t drive out here to look at the scenery.”
yancey got in the car. what f he isn't really the parole officer, he thought. but what could he do, ask for i d? even if the man had some, it could be fake.
the car started up, headed for the city.
“i bet you are wondering if i really am your parole officer.”
“um - no, sir. who else would you be?”
“i could be anybody.”
“would anybody want to rob me for my eight hundred dollars?”
“ha, ha! of course they would. and for a lot less than that. come on, i know how you fellows think, after a long stretch in the ditch. “
“maybe eight hundred is more than i thought,” yancey said. “everybody told me it did not go far out in the world right now.”
“ha, ha! and they told you right. look, i know you are yancey clevenger, you served eight years of a twenty year sentence for killing your mother. you took up with the teachings of reverend jake when you were inside. how would i know all that if i wasn’t who i say?”
“i didn’t do it.”
“you didn’t read the books of reverend jake?”
“i didn’t kill my mother.”
“you do not say so. i could not care less if you did or not, so we will drop the subject.”
“all right.”
“look at that scenery. pretty nice, eh?”
the scenery was an endless gray tunnel wall, interspersed every hundred meters by scrawny, mostly leafless trees.
“it is very nice, sir.”
“i see you are easy to get along with. a lot of fellows say it is not that much different from the scenery on the inside.”
“i’ll take it.”
“a lot of fellows think the world outside these days is not that different from the inside.”
“i am sure i will prefer it,” yancey said.
they rode a few kilometers in silence.
“what did you say your name was?” yancey asked.
“oliver. oliver rogers.”
“i thought oliver was your last name.”
“everybody just calls me oliver. you can call me that, unless you insist on being super polite and you can call me mr rogers.”
rogers! the detective who had handled yancey’s case and worked so hard to convict him, had been named bud rogers.
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