Read Online Sleeping Policemen by Dale Bailey - Free Book Online Page B

indicating that all we can do is believe in the green light, the orgastic—a word F. Scott, a terrible speller, mistakenly coined, by the way—the orgastic future—”
    The bell shrilled through his last words, stealing them.
    â€œWe’ll wrap up next time. Class dismissed.”
    Leaving, Nick saw Gillespie gesture to him, but Nick ducked his head and bulled his way into the crowded hallway. Outside, the cold numbing him instantly, Nick headed toward the cafeteria.
    Donner’s overflowed with students and professors hurrying through lunch. Nick scanned the crowd quickly, but saw none of the others. Something cold unfolded in his stomach.
    He pushed through the line, picking up a tuna on rye and an apple. Back in the dining area he still saw no one. It was the bus terminal all over again. Something serpentine stole into his heart.
    â€œNick! Over here!” Sue stood beside a table in the far back corner, waving. Finney sat beside her, his face stone, a newspaper unfolded in front of him.
    Nick walked over and placed his food on the table. He sat between them, pushing his sandwich aside. He picked up the apple and slowly polished it on the tail of his shirt.
    â€œHey, lover, how was class?” Sue’s eyes were clear and bright. Looking closely, though, Nick could see the shadows of last night’s fears: dark circles under her eyes, an occasional twitch at the corner of her mouth.
    â€œOkay, I guess.” He looked over at Finney. “Where’s Tuck?”
    Finney shrugged and pushed the paper toward Nick. “You see this?”
    Nick glanced down; it was the Ransom Daily , folded open to page four. He shook his head.
    Finney jabbed his finger at a small story under the fold. “Body Found,” the headline said in letters like black tumors. The piece had no byline. Nick thought suddenly of the old man outside the bus terminal. You ain’t like them . He squeezed the apple, refusing the shake in his fingers. He read the article quickly, the words blurring before his eyes. He reread it, forcing the words to take shape, exhorting the piece to make sense.
    The body of an unidentified man had been found late yesterday afternoon in the woods on the Tennessee side of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Sources reported that the incident bore the markings of a hit-and-run accident and that the driver had apparently attempted to hide the body. The U.S. Park Service had also discovered a stolen 1996 Camaro with Tennessee plates abandoned in a scenic overlook less than half a mile away. Because of the possibility of a murder on federal land, the FBI had been asked to participate in the investigation.
    Nick read the last line several times. Shit. They were way beyond the deep end, drowning . He imagined the warm, dark waters of the Gulf searing his throat, filling his lungs.
    â€œNotice anything?”
    Finney’s voice brought Nick to the surface. He breathed deeply and met Finney’s eyes. “Besides the fact that we’re unbelievably fucked?”
    Sue reached over and patted his arm. Her touch was the shock of jellyfish. He winced but kept his arm on the table.
    â€œAny mention of Evans?”
    Nick scanned the article again. None. His chest tightened; he wanted Sue to take her hand back. Breathing was hard.
    â€œWhat’s his deal, Nick? He came through with his Dick Tracy shit before noon. Rangers discovered the body late afternoon.” He spoke in an even voice. “And what is a Tennessee Highway Patrolman doing in Ransom, North Carolina ?” The last word came out Cah-o-lina , the Southern accent Finney had interred long ago slipping from its grave. The two of them stared at each other. Finney’s fingers tapped a quick beat on the table. Nick polished his apple.
    â€œWe need to think,” Sue said. “We need—”
    Reed Tucker appeared between them, breathing heavily, his eyes wild and his usually impeccably swept hair greasy