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Satchel Paige escorts Marilyn from her house, down Raine Street to where it interrupts Case Road on its merry way South to Thomas. Raine Street is primarily empty but for those working in the fields of the Shines Farm and those in one of the few other farms up the road. She waves to the croppers who smile and sweat profusely in the morning heat -- they dread what thickness the afternoon will bring. On Case Road Satchel leaves Marilyn's side, bounding forward to sniff the crotches of various passersby. He will occasionally glance back at his dawdling charge and forget his excitement, trotting back to her and urging her to use her legs, only to race forward again moments later to greet the usual laps. These include any (and, on good days, all) of the typical small-town necessities: the friendly mailman who Satchel would never think of chasing, the man at the local deli who holds wonders beyond saliva-inundated speech, the fellas at the hardware store who smell like black grease, the lady baker who always has a dish of dog biscuits at her counter.

To Satchel, very few things could surpass the utter coolness of such daily attractions. He often wonders how Marilyn can pass them up with so casual a wave and a smile when, in Satchel's estimation, they each deserve a quarter of an hour's attention at the very least.

Marilyn Shines is dropped off at the entrance to Zalio's and, after receiving his goodbye pat, her faithful guardian departs to his own amusements on the way home.

"Mornin' Mister Swick, " Marilyn calls as she walks inside the cooler shade of Zalio's, the eyes of her employer and a few of the regulars turning her way.

Her appearance has always somewhat shocked the inhabitants of Coleville, who, before the Shineses moved in, never much dealt with "colored folks". With Marilyn's wild hair and rainbow wardrobe, she stood out fiercely and at first sight of her, some of the amazed onlookers mumbled to themselves that she could at least try, for courtesy's sake, to be "less black". But time, while not having cured racism, has by now at least made it unpopular. Any faint stirrings of the prejudices of their grandfathers were quickly extinguished and replaced by acceptance, which Marilyn's friendliness seemed to make easier.

Setting her pack down in a corner behind the counter, Marilyn takes Rieger Swick's place, shaking a white apron out from a drawer. She slips it over her head and ties it around her waist, then twirls to land directly in front of the coffee machine, pulls out the pot, and refills the cups in front of her, all done in one fluid motion.

"How is everyone on this fine day?" she grins as she pours.

An off-key chorus of grumbles floats up from the majority. A few of the regulars lift their mugs to Marilyn and wink or smile and say, "Doin' all right, Marilyn." Among the various responses, Rieger Swick's acknowledging grunt can be perceived.

"You all right, sir?" Marilyn asks, watching him lean against the counter, flipping through bills.

"Hm? Yeah," he nods, taking a sip from a white mug beside him. He grimaces. "Awful stuff."

"I've never seen you drinking coffee before," Marilyn says with amusement as she wrings out a few blue rags.

"And I don[base ']t expect you[base ']ll see it again any time soon," Rieger makes a face. "Don't know how these folks stand it."

The bell above the door heralds another entrance and in moments, a short man with scruffy gray hair and the beginnings of a beard sits at the table, his cigarette-stained teeth flashing as he speaks in a dry monotone.

"Morning Marilyn."

"Good morning, Larry!" she chirps, setting a coffee mug in front of him and filling it. "How're you doing today?"

"Ah, can't complain," he says. "No one listens."

She chuckles at his customary response. Larry is a curmudgeon, but friendly.

As she wipes coffee stains from the counter Marilyn bounces slightly to "Burning Love", her favorite song on the Elvis #1 Gold record that Justin is fond of bringing in. She is amused by her friend's oddity, not to mention loving Elvis's funkier side.

"Oh hey. . . Elvis," Larry notes with no change of expression. "I haven[base ']t heard this since... yesterday."

"Sounds even better today," she says.

"I dunno . . . is this good Elvis or fat Elvis?"

"Hey now," she smiles, lightly admonishing. "There will be no bashing of royalty on my shift. Besides, you know how Justin is about this music. And if he were here, he'd explain exactly how all Elvis is good Elvis."

"Speaking of Justin, where is he?" asks Maud, a lady from the corner laundromat. She is at least eighty years old, but she gets around well enough on her own and has taken a fancy to Justin[base ']s young, blue-eyed charm.

"I sent him out to deliver some groceries," Rieger says into his handful of bills, then looks up at the clock. "Now that it comes to mind, he should be back by now."

"He's late?" Marilyn asks with a frown.

"Hm," Rieger Swick sets down his bills. "Hey Mari, did we get that new shipment from Falcone's yesterday?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll show you where I put it."

He follows her into the back room and she paws through the freezer.

"So are you worried about Justin?" she asks, showing him the stocks of frozen groceries stacked neatly in the corner.

"No, I know where he is," Rieger Swick allows a knowing half-smile. "He doesn't think anyone knows, but at least twice a week he goes down to that travel center by Brooke Park."

"Does he now?" Marilyn grins, delighted at finding another peculiarity in her young co-worker. "What's he do there?"

"He looks at travel brochures. He tries to be sly about it, but he does it all the time, sometimes for hours."

"It fits," Marilyn says. "He's always talking about being somewhere else."

"He wasn't made for this town, hon," Rieger closes the freezer door and runs a hand through the short switches of his hair. "One day, it's gonna take its toll."

They are stirred from the back room by the sharp ring of the phone.

"That'll be him," Rieger sighs, lumbering out to where the phone is hung. He picks it up with a knowing look at Marilyn. "Yello?"

"Mister Swick?" Justin's voice is distant and a little strange. "There's a problem."

(Chapter 6 is in the pipeline)
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