Billy handed the cigarette over without question or objection. He looked at Goodnight out of the corner of his eye--had he ever questioned the name? Was there any point to it? Likely not. Goodnight was, as always, himself. Billy could think of no other name to call him than what he'd learned him to be all those years ago.

"Sounds like your kind of a story," he said, giving a lazy sort of smirk. "You never did know how to tell a good story."