"I beg your pardon?"
"Mullins, Louisiana to do this practicing?" The hillbilly leaned on the last word with sarcastic emphasis. "This 'ere town is Mullins—Mullins, Louisiana."
The golfer shrugged hopelessly. The three conferred briefly behind cupped hands. "The name Mark Tanner mean nothing to you?" Claude asked.
The one with the black suspenders leaned across the table, his hand on the pistol, and asked: "Dan Reilly? That name don't mean nothing to you neither: Dan Reilly?"
The golfer shook his head.
"Well, I'll tell you somethin' very frank, mister. We're of the notion you come into town, into Mullins, to kill Mark Tanner."
"Mark Tanner? Kill Mark Tanner?"
"We're of the notion that Dan Reilly brought you in from outside. From Memphis, mos' like."
" Memphis!" the golfer said. "Can't you read?" he said, pointing at his golf hat. "I'm from the Chippequa National Links. That's not far from Fairfield, Connecticut!"