Read Online The Transgressors by Jim Thompson - Free Book Online Page A

Tom’d been doin’ it for years, and a few more wouldn’t hurt none.
    Dave Bradley heard this talk—that Lord, not he, was the real sheriff. He was successively hurt, angry, and suspicious, and he reacted accordingly.
    He would give Lord an order, then curtly ask why he was carrying it out or accuse him of doing it in a way contrary to his instructions. Tom was gettin’ pretty big for his britches, wasn’t he? Kinda tossing his weight around. Well, maybe he’d just better do what he was told, and nothin’ else but.
    Sometimes—as today, for example—he would literally shoo Lord from his office, dismiss him from his day’s duties. Never mind about the piled-up work. He knew how much work there was, and he didn’t need no help from smart-alecks. All he asked was that Lord keep out of his way, do his loafin’ and playin’ around somewheres else.
    Lord took the abuse quietly. He knew what lay behind it, and he felt indebted for past favors to Bradley. Yet taking it, he didn’t like it. He himself had problems. In a sense, he had the same problem that Dave had: age. He was rushing toward the same void that the old man shrank back from. And Dave couldn’t see that. He would make no allowances. Like most people who demand and expect understanding, he had little to give.
    And tonight was one time when Lord had to have it.
    “I mean it, Dave,” he said slowly, for Bradley seemed not to have heard his opening statement. “I killed Aaron McBride.”
    Dave said with absent querulousness that that was no excuse. No excuse at all for Tom’s slacking off all day. “Had to kill him, you ought to of done it on your own time. County’s payin’ you a plen-tee good salary to— Aaron McBride! ” he croaked, his mouth dropping open. “Why for did you do that?”
    “I couldn’t help it. For that matter, I ain’t real sure he didn’t kill himself,” Lord said, and he explained what had happened. “O’ course, it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been there on the lease. But—”
    “But you couldn’t leave him alone, could you? You was just spoilin’ for trouble with him! Couldn’t find an excuse, so you made one!”
    “Now, that ain’t so, Dave,” Lord began, and then his voice trailed off into silence. But wasn’t it so? Hadn’t he broken that spring deliberately?
    “Well?” Dave leaped on the silence venomously. “That’s what happened, ain’t it?”
    “Maybe,” said Lord slowly. “Maybe and maybe not. I didn’t think it was that way, but it could’ve been.”
    “And now he’s dead. Should’ve been here in the office workin’, but you had to go wanderin’ off and kill him.”
    “Look, Dave!” Lord said sharply. “Don’t keep”—he broke off with an effort; shrugged tiredly—“yes, and now he’s dead.”
    Bradley scowled at him, his mouth working irritably. “Ain’t you got a lick of sense, Tom? You think that beatin’ a man up and killin’ him is the same thing?”
    Lord shook his head curtly. He was aware, he said, that there was plenty of difference. “They wouldn’t hold still for murder, even if they didn’t like McBride.”
    “You just bet they wouldn’t! Probably venue you out of the county, so’s the charge’d be sure to stick. Dammit Tom,” Bradley threatened, “you just hadn’t ought to’ve done it! Don’t make no never-mind how many witnesses you got. Just one of ’em switches his story an’ says it was your fault, you’re stuck.”
    Lord hesitated. He said, finally, “None of ’em are going to switch. No one needs to know I was anywheres near McBride.”
    “Huh—how you mean?”
    Lord told him. Bradley looked relieved for a moment, and then his face began to darken.
    “You put me on a spot, Tom. Got my duty t’do, and you just about make it impossible.”
    “Wh-aat?” Lord stared at him bewilderedly; and then, comprehension darkening his eyes. “Do you really think that, Dave? That I told you this to tie your hands? You don’t think I was