Read Online Country Hardball by Steve Weddle - Free Book Online Page A

for something, maybe there’s something looking for you. Maybe you need to let it find you.”
    “Somebody goes looking for the Bonnie and Clyde money, maybe they find it, maybe they find a lot of dirt.”
    “I don’t know what I’m talking about, Roy. Just looking at all these old pictures. You get old enough, you’re looking back at whoever you were and wondering how much of that person is left.”
    “You ever find Myrna Loy?”
    “I oughta tell you I met her and she was fat and ugly. Keep you from chasing after nonsense.”
    “You never saw her?”
    “No, just in the movies.” The old man found the remote on the side table, turned on some baseball highlights, then muted the TV. “Roy, you remember what I told you the first day I saw you? After you moved in with your grandma?”
    “You said if I leave grass clippings on your carport you’ll skin me alive.”
    The old man laughed. “I said you look like your grandpa.”
    “Yeah, well. I guess I ought to.”
    “Not that much. You know, you get pieces from everybody. But you got most of your pieces from him. He was a good man, your grandpa.”
    “So I’m told.”
    “And I’m guessing you were told your grandpa went looking for that money, too.”
    Roy looked away.
    “Your grandma tell you that? That where you got do our part.”
    “Just going through some old boxes of stuff at her house is all. Got me thinking.”
    “Got him thinking, too. Fool’s gold, Roy. Myrna Loy. Bonnie and Clyde treasure. Being a hero for your country. Damn it, you’d best just cut your grass and keep your head down, son. Stop hoping after something that ain’t there.”
    “Worked out for you, though.”
    The old man nodded. “Ask your grandpa how it worked out for him.”
    The old man turned the game back on, poured himself another drink, then fell asleep before the ice had melted.
    Roy stood at the wall, looking at the photographs. Cop shows from the ’60s and ’70s. Autographs from cast members. Notes they wrote the old man and his pants

ON ACCOUNT
    Hurley’s truck wasn’t there when I pulled up, so I went around back of the place to look at the boat.
    I had a good enough setup to just tow the fucker right off if I wanted to, but that ain’t what I was set for. I went and knocked on the screen door in back. Shaky cinderblock steps next to a half-finished deck. Budweiser cans, stomped and squashed, spread around the yard like some drunk midgets had been playing a hopscotch game last night before the storm.
    Hurley’s girlfriend answered. Agreeable gal. V-neck T-shirt. Can of Bud. Nice, smooth tan. Not much else. She made a point of showing me she was cold. Couple points, I figure.
    “You Cleovis? You here for the boat?”
    I explained as how I was.
    She wanted me to come in and she’d get the keys to the trailer lock. No sense making a big mess of shit, she said.
    I came in and sat down at their kitchen table. A card table. Duct tape not quite covering up a cut at the edge. Three chairs. Unmatched.
    She hollered from across the hall. “Can I talk you out of taking the boat just yet?”
    I said Bill had been pretty clear about how I was supposed to conduct things with her no-account boyfriend. hat supposed to mean?”
    “mavHe’d suggested that I bring back the fucking boat and stop fucking around or he’d fucking shove a fucking ramrod up my fucking ass. I kinda gave her the short version.
    She came out into the kitchen. She’d taken off the T-shirt. I couldn’t see any tan lines from where I was, so I took a closer look.
    • • •
    After we finished, she brought me a can of beer and lay back down on the bed, resting on her elbows.
    “So maybe you come back for the boat next week?”
    I said I wasn’t so sure about that.
    She rolled over on her back and looked up at me. “See, Hurley’s got this job and he’s good for it. I mean, I’m kinda looking out for him, you know? Making sure shit gets took care of. That’s how come I’m offering this little