Read Online Sideswipe by Charles Willeford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Willeford
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helping you, Robert, I guess. But in here, I don't know--"
"You won't be in here much longer. If you call a lawyer he can get you out right away on your own recognizance."
"My what?"
"Rec-- The fact that you know who you are and that you're a property owner. Just listen to me a minute. I'm not wanted anywhere at present, but the first thing the sheriff'll do is send my fingerprints up to Charleston, South Carolina, to see if there's any criminal record on me, or if I'm wanted by some southern state. Florida's still the South, you know, despite all the snowbirds who moved down here from the North. And in the South, they always send the prints to Charleston first, because it's the southern version of the FBI records center. They won't get a make on my prints in Charleston, because I did all my time in California."
"They didn't take my prints yet. Will they send mine to Charleston, too?"
"I don't think so. As I said, you probably won't even be booked. Let me finish, then I'll answer your questions."
"Sorry, Robert. It's just that this is so darned interesting. How come they don't just send your fingerprints to the FBI in Washington?"
"They will. But later. They're interested first in whether a southern state wants a man or not. In the South, they really don't give a shit about the rest of the United States. If there isn't any make on the prints in Charleston, -then- they send them to Washington. And that's what I'm worried about, you see. It'll take about three days to get a negative report from Charleston, and then they'll forward my prints to Washington, which'll give me another three days. So I only have about six days altogether before they find out who I am. Washington's got a list on me about this long"--Troy spread his arms--"beginning with my yellow discharge from the Army and everything else. Right now, I'm okay. With just the two of us involved, me and Henry Collins, the State Attorney, when he looks at the case, wouldn't be too eager to prosecute. But when he sees my record, I'll be arraigned, and the judge'll be all set to convict me even though I'm innocent, just because of my record."
"But you aren't innocent, Robert. You already said--"
"I'm innocent until they prove otherwise. They can't prove anything, but my record'll make me look bad. That'll put me in a tight spot."
"I'm not seeing how I can help you."
Troy crossed to the bars, looked down the corridor, then sat down again. He pulled off his left boot, extracted a nail from the heel, and slid the lowest layer of the heel to one side. From a hollowed-out recess in the heel he removed three tightly folded newspaper clippings. Troy unfolded the clippings, thumbed through them, and handed one of them to Stanley. He replaced the other two clippings in the heel, twisted it back, and reinserted the nail.
"Go ahead and read it, Pop."
The clipping contained three short paragraphs. Stanley didn't have his reading glasses, so he had to hold it at arm's length to read it. Stanley read it three times before returning it to Troy. "I don't understand, Robert--"
Troy smiled and patted the old man on the knee. "What did you get out of it, Pop? Tell me."
"Maybe I missed something, I don't know. All I got out of it was that a man held up a liquor store in Biloxi, Mississippi, and then beat the owner unconscious because there wasn't enough money in the cash register to suit him."
"What's the dateline? Up at the top?"
"Biloxi, Mississippi."
"Right. That shows that the item was printed somewhere else. If something happens here in West Palm Beach, they don't put the name of the city down, but if something happens up in Jacksonville, and they run an item here, they put Jacksonville in the dateline, you see. Anyway, all you're supposed to get out of it is the story."
"This wasn't you, was it, son?"
"Of course not."
"Then why... I mean, what--?"
"You don't have to keep asking
"You won't be in here much longer. If you call a lawyer he can get you out right away on your own recognizance."
"My what?"
"Rec-- The fact that you know who you are and that you're a property owner. Just listen to me a minute. I'm not wanted anywhere at present, but the first thing the sheriff'll do is send my fingerprints up to Charleston, South Carolina, to see if there's any criminal record on me, or if I'm wanted by some southern state. Florida's still the South, you know, despite all the snowbirds who moved down here from the North. And in the South, they always send the prints to Charleston first, because it's the southern version of the FBI records center. They won't get a make on my prints in Charleston, because I did all my time in California."
"They didn't take my prints yet. Will they send mine to Charleston, too?"
"I don't think so. As I said, you probably won't even be booked. Let me finish, then I'll answer your questions."
"Sorry, Robert. It's just that this is so darned interesting. How come they don't just send your fingerprints to the FBI in Washington?"
"They will. But later. They're interested first in whether a southern state wants a man or not. In the South, they really don't give a shit about the rest of the United States. If there isn't any make on the prints in Charleston, -then- they send them to Washington. And that's what I'm worried about, you see. It'll take about three days to get a negative report from Charleston, and then they'll forward my prints to Washington, which'll give me another three days. So I only have about six days altogether before they find out who I am. Washington's got a list on me about this long"--Troy spread his arms--"beginning with my yellow discharge from the Army and everything else. Right now, I'm okay. With just the two of us involved, me and Henry Collins, the State Attorney, when he looks at the case, wouldn't be too eager to prosecute. But when he sees my record, I'll be arraigned, and the judge'll be all set to convict me even though I'm innocent, just because of my record."
"But you aren't innocent, Robert. You already said--"
"I'm innocent until they prove otherwise. They can't prove anything, but my record'll make me look bad. That'll put me in a tight spot."
"I'm not seeing how I can help you."
Troy crossed to the bars, looked down the corridor, then sat down again. He pulled off his left boot, extracted a nail from the heel, and slid the lowest layer of the heel to one side. From a hollowed-out recess in the heel he removed three tightly folded newspaper clippings. Troy unfolded the clippings, thumbed through them, and handed one of them to Stanley. He replaced the other two clippings in the heel, twisted it back, and reinserted the nail.
"Go ahead and read it, Pop."
The clipping contained three short paragraphs. Stanley didn't have his reading glasses, so he had to hold it at arm's length to read it. Stanley read it three times before returning it to Troy. "I don't understand, Robert--"
Troy smiled and patted the old man on the knee. "What did you get out of it, Pop? Tell me."
"Maybe I missed something, I don't know. All I got out of it was that a man held up a liquor store in Biloxi, Mississippi, and then beat the owner unconscious because there wasn't enough money in the cash register to suit him."
"What's the dateline? Up at the top?"
"Biloxi, Mississippi."
"Right. That shows that the item was printed somewhere else. If something happens here in West Palm Beach, they don't put the name of the city down, but if something happens up in Jacksonville, and they run an item here, they put Jacksonville in the dateline, you see. Anyway, all you're supposed to get out of it is the story."
"This wasn't you, was it, son?"
"Of course not."
"Then why... I mean, what--?"
"You don't have to keep asking
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