Sublime

“I think Michael got so good because Larry used to beat him all the time,” James Jordan would explain later. “He took it hard.”

“Clyde Waggoner. I’m Martin’s father.” The man from Okeechobee was wearing a white rayon tie with a blue chambray work shirt, and khaki trousers. There was a thin nylon Sears windbreaker folded over his left arm.

Years later he explained that he made the selection because 23 was close to half of 45, a number that his brother Larry had worn.

Tim had discovered that Vic liked to eat. One night Tim and I picked him up and drove him to a Japanese steak house on the north side of town, calculating that Vic would have fun, and he might impart a few secrets on a full stomach.