uh.  no.
last what?
i believe you have me confused. i'm here from huntsville. assigned by governor connally. red is confused. he turns a blank expression to adler.
uh, i'm sally gerber. criminologist with the state prison system. sally offers her hand. red, perusing the telex, ignores but adler shakes somewhat reluctantly, not sure if he's supposed to like her or not.
it's a relatively new procedure but i was assigned by governor connally.
 it includes parole and work release programs as well as penal escape situations. the office phone buzzes. adler picks it up.
the idea is that an understanding of the particular behavioral case histories should, in parole situations, help the subject to avoid habitual traps and, in penal escape situations could, conversely, identify those self-same traps as an aide to apprehension.
sally, please.
and what does?
you have a question?
i've got it. she kneels down to pick it up and feels eyes on her. she looks up to the men staring at.  her skirt, raised a bit, exposing a thigh. she calmly stands and looks to adler, a piece of cinnamon roll dangling on his chin.
you've got shit on your face. red can't help but smile as adler wipes at his face.
it's.  perhaps premature, but do you have an auxiliary roadblock plan for when they split up? everyone stares. no one ever questions red.
their situation is one of accommodation. they won't be together long. silence. sally continues.
haynes and pugh are opposites. haynes is a criminal's criminal -- armed robbery, mano y mano confrontation. pugh, on the other hand, has a rap sheet littered with molestation and petty crime. they'll split sheets soon.
it's happened before. either way it's a dilemma they'll address soon. that's why we should address it now. she looks to red. he refuses to return her gaze.
okay.  which one?
we need to talk, chief garnett.
red. why are you so hell-bent on embarassing me?
i have a fine sense of humor, but the one thing i won't do is be your straight man so you can play hero to a bunch of morons who think you're some kind of hillbilly sherlock holmes.
i'd like an answer.
you think i'm what? some dumb schoolgirl who wandered into the boy's locker room? well you're wrong. i don't mean to boast, but i happen to be one of the two most intelligent people involved in this fiasco.
i expected to be allowed to do the job assigned to me by the governor.
the governor as chief executive officer of this state bears ultimate responsibility for.
you're the one that what? but red side-steps.
yes.
other one?
haynes. he was tested in prison.
shouldn't these be roadblocked as well? she points to several other unmarked roads.
in a perfect world things like this wouldn't happen in the first place. adler hears something on his headset, turns to red.
the ford he stole.
he likes fords.
it's the only thing to do. he's got the child with him. red gives her a look that says, "don't defend me".
maybe, maybe not.
i'll give you a safe bet. the boy's in better hands now than he was.
no thank you.
probably scared to death.
what?
how's that happen?
okay, so.  i'm robert haynes. called butch by everyone. i was born in amarillo, but grew up in the french quarter of new orleans.
i killed a man when i was eight. silence. nobody seems willing to play along. red turns from the window to sally.
shot him with a pistol. there was always one around the dance hall. that's what they called it but it was a whorehouse. we lived there. red moves away from the discussion and stands at the front of the airstream, staring out the front window.
the victim was wanted by the locals so the whole thing got shoved under the carpet cajun-style.
put me in school. three years behind but i catch up.
they were. for awhile. when i'm twelve mom dies.
delilah jane haynes hung herself in the bathroom of the brothel. could have saved herself the trouble. post-mortem check uncovered last stage syphilis.
nobody knows where he is now. ditched when i was six. he was a small-time felon. popped up again after mom died -- he'd just been paroled. moved us back to amarillo. a year later i'm in trouble again.
took a joyride in a ford coupe that i just couldn't resist.
judge gave me four years in gatesville, toughest juvy farm in texas.
where i'm going isn't as important as 'why am i going there?'
staring out the window. she looks at the passing ford.
you said the boy stole a halloween costume.  what character?
that was them. they just passed us.
shit!!!!
he was laughing and waving.
excuse me?
excuse me. bobby lee smiles a crooked-tooth grin, refusing to move.
i could give a shit.
uh.  rare.
maybe medium-rare. bobby lee and red are left standing face to face.
bring back any memories?
it's the 60's, red. they've got a file on everybody.
you worked as county sheriff in amarillo and austin before you became a ranger. right so far? oh, and it says your name's cecil.
strong.  but good. so cecil.  red gives her a strong look.
red. what do you do when you're not at work.
nope.
a confirmed bachelor. any regrets?
my father's defense lawyer.
instead of home ec, i studied criminology. when i graduated, my father, with the governor's help, they, he and my dad.  i created a position for myself with the prison system.
don't own one.
maybe.
what's that?
sleep? that's what retirement's for.
you wanna' know what's really crazy? hayne's juvenile court record lists you as amicus curiae. silence save the crickets.
friend of the court. evidence given by a non-party with the intention of swaying the judge one way or the other. they're usually in written form, but there's no copy attached. red doesn't flinch.
okay, then at least tell me why haynes got four years for a joyride? what about probation? the boy had a home, a father.
that he was a petty thief who did a little time, got out and stayed pretty clean.
i'm listening.
still, i don't understand from the file why.
i'm a bit confused.  red tosses out the rest of his coffee.
what are you trying to say?
not a bad idea.
i didn't mean to pry last night.
look, red, it was 20 years ago.
forgiving you for what?! for looking at the facts and doing what you thought was right?
i think our chances of this thing ending peacefully are good. he smiles a lonesome smile, opens the door and exits.
no doubt an observation based on personal experience. red can't help but smile.
based on what's happened the past two days i don't think he would.
we don't know that he pulled the trigger on either of the innocent victims.
it doesn't necessarily mean that.
he's giving himself up.
come on, come on.
give it a second!
let the boy go, butch!
noooooo!!!!
you did everything you could. you know that. red just stares straight ahead.