Read Online Denton - 03 - Way Past Dead by Steven Womack - Free Book Online
Authors: Steven Womack
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was bending over to check the answering machine, the pounding on the door started.
“Hold on,” I said loudly. “Just a sec.”
Truth was, I didn’t have to yell. My office is only one room, L-shaped, with just enough square footage in the small part of the L for the door to open without hitting my visitor’s chair.
I opened the door to find Ray standing there, without Slim, lines creased on his face deeper than I’d ever seen before. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week.
“Ray, c’mon in, man.”
Ray stepped in behind me as I shut the door. “I guess you heard,” he said.
“Yeah, it was on TV this morning. And in the paper.”
I passed around him and slid into my seat, motioning for him to grab the other chair. Ray flopped into it, his butt barely on the edge of the chair, his elbows close into his sides, his hands pointing out toward me.
“Shit, I ain’t never seen nothing like this.”
“What’s going on? Where’s Slim? The newspaper said witnesses saw a car like his pulling away from Rebecca’s place last night.”
Ray brought his hands up and rubbed his forehead. “Harry, there’s a lot you don’t know about Slim. He looks real quiet and laid-back most of the time—”
“Yeah?”
“But sometimes, you push the wrong buttons, ol’ Slim’ll get kind of wild.”
I leaned back in the chair and thought for a second. Marsha trapped inside a morgue, surrounded by armed Winnebagos, me with a stack of bills to pay, and God knows how long the insurance company’s going to take to pay that invoice. Now this. So life’s never dull.
Please God, I thought, give me a little dull.
“Where is he, Ray?”
“That’s kind of hard to say.”
I crossed my feet and put them up on my desk, wrapped my hands around my head, and leaned back in my creaky office chair. Trying my best to look like a country lawyer, I guess. Maybe Gregory Peck in
To Kill a Mockingbird
.
“He didn’t decide to jackrabbit now, did he?”
Ray looked me in the eye and I saw his lips start to move.
“ ’Cause if he did, Ray, he’s mega-screwed. Can’t nobody help him now.”
Ray fidgeted a moment longer, then: “Well, he ain’t exactly run off. He’s just staying low to try to figure out the lay of the land. I got a friend over at the courthousewho called me about a half hour ago, said the police were looking for him as a material witness.”
“You know how to get in touch with him?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’m no lawyer, buddy, but I do know nothing good ever comes from running. If he’s rabbitted out of here, they’ll find him. If I was you, I’d get ahold of him, tell him to get a lawyer, and come on in. If he’s innocent, then sooner or later they’ll figure that out.”
I knew I was lying. Not about the police catching him, of course. If Slim’s run off, they’ll find him. I was lying about the if-he’s-innocent-he’ll-get-off stuff. Anybody who’s hung around courtrooms and jailhouses as much as I did in my years as a reporter knows that once you enter the judicial system and the system thinks you’re guilty, then nothing else matters. You can pretty well kiss your ass goodbye. But there’s no good in trying to acquaint people with the truth when they don’t have the basis upon which to accept it.
“You think so?” Ray asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Tell him to c’mon in and clear himself.” Then I hesitated just a moment. “He didn’t do it, did he?”
Ray’s mouth curled up. “Hell, no, Harry. He didn’t do it. That ain’t Slim’s style. You ought to know that.”
I didn’t know
why
I ought to have known that, but I let the comment slide for the sake of propriety.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I said apologetically. “I just had to ask.”
“Well, he didn’t do it,” Ray insisted. “But appearances are going to hurt him. You got to understand, Slim and Rebecca fought like hell the whole time they were married. Most of
“Hold on,” I said loudly. “Just a sec.”
Truth was, I didn’t have to yell. My office is only one room, L-shaped, with just enough square footage in the small part of the L for the door to open without hitting my visitor’s chair.
I opened the door to find Ray standing there, without Slim, lines creased on his face deeper than I’d ever seen before. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week.
“Ray, c’mon in, man.”
Ray stepped in behind me as I shut the door. “I guess you heard,” he said.
“Yeah, it was on TV this morning. And in the paper.”
I passed around him and slid into my seat, motioning for him to grab the other chair. Ray flopped into it, his butt barely on the edge of the chair, his elbows close into his sides, his hands pointing out toward me.
“Shit, I ain’t never seen nothing like this.”
“What’s going on? Where’s Slim? The newspaper said witnesses saw a car like his pulling away from Rebecca’s place last night.”
Ray brought his hands up and rubbed his forehead. “Harry, there’s a lot you don’t know about Slim. He looks real quiet and laid-back most of the time—”
“Yeah?”
“But sometimes, you push the wrong buttons, ol’ Slim’ll get kind of wild.”
I leaned back in the chair and thought for a second. Marsha trapped inside a morgue, surrounded by armed Winnebagos, me with a stack of bills to pay, and God knows how long the insurance company’s going to take to pay that invoice. Now this. So life’s never dull.
Please God, I thought, give me a little dull.
“Where is he, Ray?”
“That’s kind of hard to say.”
I crossed my feet and put them up on my desk, wrapped my hands around my head, and leaned back in my creaky office chair. Trying my best to look like a country lawyer, I guess. Maybe Gregory Peck in
To Kill a Mockingbird
.
“He didn’t decide to jackrabbit now, did he?”
Ray looked me in the eye and I saw his lips start to move.
“ ’Cause if he did, Ray, he’s mega-screwed. Can’t nobody help him now.”
Ray fidgeted a moment longer, then: “Well, he ain’t exactly run off. He’s just staying low to try to figure out the lay of the land. I got a friend over at the courthousewho called me about a half hour ago, said the police were looking for him as a material witness.”
“You know how to get in touch with him?” I asked.
“Maybe.”
“I’m no lawyer, buddy, but I do know nothing good ever comes from running. If he’s rabbitted out of here, they’ll find him. If I was you, I’d get ahold of him, tell him to get a lawyer, and come on in. If he’s innocent, then sooner or later they’ll figure that out.”
I knew I was lying. Not about the police catching him, of course. If Slim’s run off, they’ll find him. I was lying about the if-he’s-innocent-he’ll-get-off stuff. Anybody who’s hung around courtrooms and jailhouses as much as I did in my years as a reporter knows that once you enter the judicial system and the system thinks you’re guilty, then nothing else matters. You can pretty well kiss your ass goodbye. But there’s no good in trying to acquaint people with the truth when they don’t have the basis upon which to accept it.
“You think so?” Ray asked.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Tell him to c’mon in and clear himself.” Then I hesitated just a moment. “He didn’t do it, did he?”
Ray’s mouth curled up. “Hell, no, Harry. He didn’t do it. That ain’t Slim’s style. You ought to know that.”
I didn’t know
why
I ought to have known that, but I let the comment slide for the sake of propriety.
“I didn’t mean anything,” I said apologetically. “I just had to ask.”
“Well, he didn’t do it,” Ray insisted. “But appearances are going to hurt him. You got to understand, Slim and Rebecca fought like hell the whole time they were married. Most of
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