Read Online Smoked Out (Digger) by Warren Murphy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Warren Murphy
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out. Use that beautiful body."
She smiled at him and nodded. Dole turned back to the table. "Dumb cunt," he said.
"I guess the job has its compensations," Digger said.
"Hmmmm? Oh, yeah."
"Why don’t the beauties play golf? I play golf. I never met a woman on the golf course that I’d take home to meet my dog."
"It’s boobs and butts," Dole said. "The pretty ones want to show them off and tennis costumes are better for that. There’s more jiggling in tennis. Besides, women like to sweat. It brings out the animal in them. You play?"
"Only around," Digger said.
"Not a bad game, if you win," Dole said. "What’s your name again?"
"Call me Tim. Tim Kelp."
"Now what can I do for you?"
"You were at Jessalyn Welles’s funeral. I thought you could give me something to use in a piece I’m writing. Kind of a memorial to the woman."
"For who?"
"For the Hospital in the Hills. A surprise thing for Dr. Welles. He doesn’t know we’re doing it."
"What do you want from me?" Dole said.
"Can you give me something to use?" Digger asked.
"Sure. Jessalyn’s serve was lousy. Her forehand was worse. She never remembered to turn her back on the backhand. She had no foot speed and no arm strength. Sometimes the ball would bounce up and hit her in the face. She’d stand there like a statue. She was the worst tennis player I ever saw. She was a wonderful person. Can you use any of that?"
"That last part. A wonderful person. A woman loved by everybody."
"If you say so." He looked down at his Perrier.
"You know about her accident. Was Mrs. Welles a bad driver?"
"No. I never noticed anything unusually bad about the way she drove. She was a woman. She drove like one. She was all right. She was lousy. Like a woman."
"At the funeral, you were kind of glaring at Dr. Welles. You don’t like him?"
"What’s to like?" Dole said. "He’s not much of a person."
"I thought he was a big shot," Digger said. "Doctor to the stars."
"Only if the stars aren’t sick. He’s the kind of guy rich people go to when they don’t have anything wrong with them. When they really get sick, they go to a real doctor."
"He’s the head of that hospital," Digger said mildly.
"Because Jess was on the board of trustees. They picked him because he’s pretty, just the kind of guy you want to trot out at annual meetings."
"Talk like that, he could make trouble for you here."
"Him? He’s not even allowed in here."
"Why not?" Digger asked.
"I don’t know. Something about cheating at cards, I think. He hasn’t been a member for almost a year."
"Was Mrs. Welles ever sick?"
"Not that I know of. These aren’t the kind of questions that wind up in a testimonial about a woman who died in an accident," Dole said. Digger noticed how big the man’s hands were, surrounding his glass of Perrier.
"I’m just trying to understand the woman. I don’t use any of this stuff," Digger said. "I’m going to write how everybody loved her in a special way, from her husband to her tennis instructor to the clerk in the store she operated."
"Kelp, you’ve got to be the stupidest public relations man in the world."
"Don’t tell my boss. I’m up for a vice presidency. My own key to the washroom."
Dole shrugged as he stood up. Digger said, "Listen, I’m at the Sportsland Lodge if you think of anything good for my story."
Dole walked back toward the tennis court to help the blonde work on her serve. Digger turned off his tape recorder. When he got into his car in the parking lot, he looked back toward the courts. Ted Dole was standing there, watching Digger, looking at the white Mazda.
He looked very muscular and very mean standing there, Digger thought. Mean enough to kill Dr. Welles if he took it into his mind. Maybe even mean enough to kill a woman.
For the moment, Digger was pretty sure that Dole and Mrs. Welles were, as they used to say when Digger was young back before he invented drinking, "a thing." There was Lorelei’s comment on the telephone. "Oh.
She smiled at him and nodded. Dole turned back to the table. "Dumb cunt," he said.
"I guess the job has its compensations," Digger said.
"Hmmmm? Oh, yeah."
"Why don’t the beauties play golf? I play golf. I never met a woman on the golf course that I’d take home to meet my dog."
"It’s boobs and butts," Dole said. "The pretty ones want to show them off and tennis costumes are better for that. There’s more jiggling in tennis. Besides, women like to sweat. It brings out the animal in them. You play?"
"Only around," Digger said.
"Not a bad game, if you win," Dole said. "What’s your name again?"
"Call me Tim. Tim Kelp."
"Now what can I do for you?"
"You were at Jessalyn Welles’s funeral. I thought you could give me something to use in a piece I’m writing. Kind of a memorial to the woman."
"For who?"
"For the Hospital in the Hills. A surprise thing for Dr. Welles. He doesn’t know we’re doing it."
"What do you want from me?" Dole said.
"Can you give me something to use?" Digger asked.
"Sure. Jessalyn’s serve was lousy. Her forehand was worse. She never remembered to turn her back on the backhand. She had no foot speed and no arm strength. Sometimes the ball would bounce up and hit her in the face. She’d stand there like a statue. She was the worst tennis player I ever saw. She was a wonderful person. Can you use any of that?"
"That last part. A wonderful person. A woman loved by everybody."
"If you say so." He looked down at his Perrier.
"You know about her accident. Was Mrs. Welles a bad driver?"
"No. I never noticed anything unusually bad about the way she drove. She was a woman. She drove like one. She was all right. She was lousy. Like a woman."
"At the funeral, you were kind of glaring at Dr. Welles. You don’t like him?"
"What’s to like?" Dole said. "He’s not much of a person."
"I thought he was a big shot," Digger said. "Doctor to the stars."
"Only if the stars aren’t sick. He’s the kind of guy rich people go to when they don’t have anything wrong with them. When they really get sick, they go to a real doctor."
"He’s the head of that hospital," Digger said mildly.
"Because Jess was on the board of trustees. They picked him because he’s pretty, just the kind of guy you want to trot out at annual meetings."
"Talk like that, he could make trouble for you here."
"Him? He’s not even allowed in here."
"Why not?" Digger asked.
"I don’t know. Something about cheating at cards, I think. He hasn’t been a member for almost a year."
"Was Mrs. Welles ever sick?"
"Not that I know of. These aren’t the kind of questions that wind up in a testimonial about a woman who died in an accident," Dole said. Digger noticed how big the man’s hands were, surrounding his glass of Perrier.
"I’m just trying to understand the woman. I don’t use any of this stuff," Digger said. "I’m going to write how everybody loved her in a special way, from her husband to her tennis instructor to the clerk in the store she operated."
"Kelp, you’ve got to be the stupidest public relations man in the world."
"Don’t tell my boss. I’m up for a vice presidency. My own key to the washroom."
Dole shrugged as he stood up. Digger said, "Listen, I’m at the Sportsland Lodge if you think of anything good for my story."
Dole walked back toward the tennis court to help the blonde work on her serve. Digger turned off his tape recorder. When he got into his car in the parking lot, he looked back toward the courts. Ted Dole was standing there, watching Digger, looking at the white Mazda.
He looked very muscular and very mean standing there, Digger thought. Mean enough to kill Dr. Welles if he took it into his mind. Maybe even mean enough to kill a woman.
For the moment, Digger was pretty sure that Dole and Mrs. Welles were, as they used to say when Digger was young back before he invented drinking, "a thing." There was Lorelei’s comment on the telephone. "Oh.
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