Read Online The Last Death of Jack Harbin by Terry Shames - Free Book Online

tastes like she waved some coffee grounds over a pot of hot water.
    We kick around the ups and downs of the game, and go back over the loss to Bobtail with no new information being imparted on either side.
    When we wind down, Woody sits back with a speculative expression. “I’m glad we’ve had a chance to visit, but it’s a little unusual for you to drop by. I expect you’re here to talk about Jack Harbin.”
    I nod. “Laurel came to see me about your idea.”
    Woody must be over forty, but I can still see the boy in him. Like Laurel, he has thickened up a little at the belly, and he’s got a few lines around the eyes. His daddy is practically bald, and Woody’s hairline is sneaking backwards. “I know she doesn’t like the idea. So she put you up to talking to me?”
    â€œWomen have got more sense than men,” I say. “It’s always been that way. And I have to admit I think she’s right on this one. Taking care of Jack would be a big job. A lot of the care will fall to Laurel. You’ve got your mother-in-law and the two boys to think of.”
    Woody isn’t one to speak on impulse. He takes out a tin of chewing tobacco and tucks a little inside his lower lip, his eyes unfocused. I’d as soon see a man eat mud as chew tobacco.
    â€œShe’ll come around,” he says, finally.
    â€œI think it would help if she knew what was behind it. Obviously Jack has a big problem with you, for whatever reason. Why do you want to stir things up?”
    He tightens down the lid of the tobacco tin and slips it into his pocket. “I just think it’s time we bury the hatchet.” He leans over and spits a stream of tobacco juice on the ground. “Jack blames me for what happened to him, because it was me that wanted to sign up for the army, and he went along with it. And by the time we found out they wouldn’t take me, it was too late for him to back out. I don’t mind shouldering some of the blame, but some of it was plain old bad luck.”
    â€œTaylor said she was as much to blame as you are. What did she mean by that?”
    He ponders the question. “I guess Taylor was taken with the idea of us being in uniform. But it’s not her fault that Jack got hurt.”
    â€œWhat makes you think Jack is willing to bury the hatchet now?”
    â€œHow else is he going to get taken care of? Pay somebody to be around night and day?”
    â€œAll I’m saying is, I wouldn’t count on getting him to say yes. Have you talked to Taylor about this?”
    Woody picks at a spot of paint on his wrist. “She thinks I’m crazy.” The lazy grin he’s famous for creeps across his face. “Women just don’t get how it is between men. Jack and I were as close as brothers, and we can be again.”
    â€œWhy now? Why not before?”
    â€œBefore, he didn’t need me.”

“Samuel, I’m at Jack Harbin’s. I need you to get over here.”
    It’s three o’clock in the morning on Wednesday, the week after Bob Harbin’s funeral. The call is from Dottie Gant, the retired nurse hired to take the night shift caring for Jack. The urgency in her voice alarms me. Dottie wouldn’t call without good cause. She’s as tough as my boots. I tell her I’ll be right there.
    I slip on jeans and a T-shirt, but when I go outside there’s a nip in the night air, so I go back and put on a blue work shirt. When I was chief of police, I was acquainted with the night, but that was some years ago. The intense quiet seems to invite dark thoughts. There’s a little wind kicking up, too, and the dull metal smell of rain in the air. I should have heated up a cup of last night’s coffee in the microwave.
    Dottie’s waiting at the door, dressed in slacks and a blouse, her arms hugging her chest. Her gray hair, usually pinned into a neat bun, is tumbling down her back in a wild