“So what do you think I should do now?” Erskine asked.
“Depends on who you want to talk to,” Michael replied.
Erskine let the answer hang in the air while he thought it over. He looked out the window, where blue jays were fighting and making a racket in the canopy of an enveloping live oak.
“Well, I have to get Jerry Kayro,” he said with a sigh.
“But isn’t he the guy you don’t trust?” Michael said.
“Uh-huh. Right.”
“So what do you think he’s going to see here?”
“I’m not sure. But if I’m guessin’ today, I’m guessin’ he’d be seeing pileated’s. It’s not like people in his position to admit they’ve been wrong about something like this.”
“So why waste your time with him?”
“Because he’s the Pope of the bird world. It’s not even a chickadee if Jerry Kayro says it’s a titmouse.”
“Let’s not be vulgar,” Michael deadpanned. “I am trying to help you here.”
“Okay, well focus then.”
“So you think Jerry Kayro always has the last word?”
“So far.”
“Well,” Michael said, “maybe you don’t need to go so far.”
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