“Dat’s day mahsh out dere bebe,” Old Nanette said from her rocking chair, a bowl of snap peas in her lap. She pointed southwest towards the dying day.
I swallowed. I’d come this far, only to be thwarted by darkness.
“You should wait til tomorrow,” Jimbo said. He was leaned up against a porch post, picking at the chipped paint. “Nigel will be here with the dogs.”
Old Nanette rocked and snapped the ends off. She gave me a handful to work on.
“Ya betta have ya pointa finga on dat trigga enough plenti of da black powda fa ya gun.”
Jimbo coughed. “It’s daylight, ain’t nothing going to happen.”
“Bebe, no sunshine gonna save yas from dat. De devil does his best work in broad daylight, cause he wan the world world ta see.”