Harmon looked at him, then laughed. "I got to tell you, Doc. I always have admired your lack of judgment."
"Well," Fletcher said. "I suppose every man wants to be admired, as he gets on in life."
"Come on, Doc. I'm on your side. You must know Peters wanted to send someone else. You know why I made 'em send you, don't you?"
Fletcher supposed the answer would be forthcoming.
"Take a look around you, homes. Sonny's gone. Robbie's gone." Harmon laughed once more. There was nothing mean-spirited about it. It was just the way you laugh, sometimes, when you see a thing for what it is. "Take a look at who's still here. These other pissants . . . " He looked toward the sea, dismissing them with a wave of the hand. "All they care about is the check."
"A check would be nice," Fletcher said.
Drew Harmon just looked at him. "Shit, Doc, you wouldn't know what to do with a check if you had one, and neither would I."
Kem Nunn, The Dogs of Winter, page 327.
