Ballinger said when the bounty hunter was gone. He looked at the body in the casket. “You think this Baty is really a bank robber?”
“Rapinski doesn’t have any reason to lie,” Rhodes said.
“He’d lie just for the fun of it,” Ballinger said. “I could tell that by looking at him.”
“Not this time. It’s too easy to check.”
“You and Hack are going to check, then.”
“We’d be fools not to,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Rhodes had a simple weight-control plan. He hardly ever ate lunch. It seemed like he was too busy to stop for even a hamburger at a drive-through. Today, though, he couldn’t resist taking the time. He drove out on the highway where all the action in Clearview was now. The downtown area had become little more than a collection of empty buildings and vacant lots, with a few exceptions, like the expansive law offices of Randy Lawless, whose names were the subject of a good bit of not-so-innocent hilarity in the county.
If the downtown looked like a bombed-out hamlet, however, the area on the highway east of town was booming. There were two new motels, part of a phenomenon that Rhodes didn’t quite understand. Every little town in Texas was sprouting motels like mushrooms after a spring rain, and Clearview was no exception. Two more had sprung up on the highway to the north.
The Super Walmart’s parking lot had cars in nearly all the parking spaces. The big supermarket down the road swarmed with customers. Nobody who drove by on the highway would ever give a thought to what had happened to the nearly deserted downtown. Only people who’d lived in Clearview for a good while even missed it, Rhodes was sure.
Another place doing plenty of business was the local McDonald’s, but Rhodes wasn’t interested in a McBurger. Across the highway was a Big Jolly’s convenience store. Jolly was Jeff Jolly, and he wasn’t big at all. He was short and rotund, but his last name described his disposition well.
It was no wonder he was jolly. He’d started out as a clerk in an early version of the convenience store fifty years earlier. Now he owned six or seven stores of his own, every one of them a gold mine, or so Rhodes had heard.
One reason for their popularity was the hamburgers served at every location. No hot dogs, no deli sandwiches, no wraps. Just burgers, and nothing fancy. You could get cheese added, but that was it. No bacon, no peppers, no sissy sauces. No ketchup or mayo. Mustard only.
Best of all, as far as Rhodes was concerned, was the fact that after the burger was cooked, both sides of the bun were slapped down on the grill and warmed in the grease that remained. Rhodes had feared that when the Bluebonnet Grocery closed, he’d never have a burger wrapped in greasy paper again, and for a while that had been true. Now, Big Jolly had stepped in to save the day.
Rhodes parked in the shade on the side of the store away from the gas pumps and went inside for his burger.
Larry Torrance was the cook, and when Rhodes ordered, Torrance said, “No cheese today, Sheriff?”
“No cheese,” Rhodes said. That was how he convinced himself that he was eating healthy. “No tomato, either.”
“Tomatoes are good for you,” Larry said. He always said that.
“They have evil side effects,” Rhodes said, and Larry nodded. It was what Rhodes always said in reply. Larry had never asked what the evil side effects were, which was just as well. Rhodes couldn’t have told him.
Torrance put the meat on the grill and pressed it down with a spatula. Rhodes looked around the store while he listened to the sizzle. He didn’t see anybody he knew, so he watched a youngster at the soft drink machine fill what appeared to be a gallon container with cola.
“Ready, Sheriff,” Torrance said after a while. “Just pay up front.”
Rhodes took the bag containing his burger, paid, and left. He didn’t want to eat at one of the two small tables in the store, so he drove to the courthouse,
“Rapinski doesn’t have any reason to lie,” Rhodes said.
“He’d lie just for the fun of it,” Ballinger said. “I could tell that by looking at him.”
“Not this time. It’s too easy to check.”
“You and Hack are going to check, then.”
“We’d be fools not to,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Rhodes had a simple weight-control plan. He hardly ever ate lunch. It seemed like he was too busy to stop for even a hamburger at a drive-through. Today, though, he couldn’t resist taking the time. He drove out on the highway where all the action in Clearview was now. The downtown area had become little more than a collection of empty buildings and vacant lots, with a few exceptions, like the expansive law offices of Randy Lawless, whose names were the subject of a good bit of not-so-innocent hilarity in the county.
If the downtown looked like a bombed-out hamlet, however, the area on the highway east of town was booming. There were two new motels, part of a phenomenon that Rhodes didn’t quite understand. Every little town in Texas was sprouting motels like mushrooms after a spring rain, and Clearview was no exception. Two more had sprung up on the highway to the north.
The Super Walmart’s parking lot had cars in nearly all the parking spaces. The big supermarket down the road swarmed with customers. Nobody who drove by on the highway would ever give a thought to what had happened to the nearly deserted downtown. Only people who’d lived in Clearview for a good while even missed it, Rhodes was sure.
Another place doing plenty of business was the local McDonald’s, but Rhodes wasn’t interested in a McBurger. Across the highway was a Big Jolly’s convenience store. Jolly was Jeff Jolly, and he wasn’t big at all. He was short and rotund, but his last name described his disposition well.
It was no wonder he was jolly. He’d started out as a clerk in an early version of the convenience store fifty years earlier. Now he owned six or seven stores of his own, every one of them a gold mine, or so Rhodes had heard.
One reason for their popularity was the hamburgers served at every location. No hot dogs, no deli sandwiches, no wraps. Just burgers, and nothing fancy. You could get cheese added, but that was it. No bacon, no peppers, no sissy sauces. No ketchup or mayo. Mustard only.
Best of all, as far as Rhodes was concerned, was the fact that after the burger was cooked, both sides of the bun were slapped down on the grill and warmed in the grease that remained. Rhodes had feared that when the Bluebonnet Grocery closed, he’d never have a burger wrapped in greasy paper again, and for a while that had been true. Now, Big Jolly had stepped in to save the day.
Rhodes parked in the shade on the side of the store away from the gas pumps and went inside for his burger.
Larry Torrance was the cook, and when Rhodes ordered, Torrance said, “No cheese today, Sheriff?”
“No cheese,” Rhodes said. That was how he convinced himself that he was eating healthy. “No tomato, either.”
“Tomatoes are good for you,” Larry said. He always said that.
“They have evil side effects,” Rhodes said, and Larry nodded. It was what Rhodes always said in reply. Larry had never asked what the evil side effects were, which was just as well. Rhodes couldn’t have told him.
Torrance put the meat on the grill and pressed it down with a spatula. Rhodes looked around the store while he listened to the sizzle. He didn’t see anybody he knew, so he watched a youngster at the soft drink machine fill what appeared to be a gallon container with cola.
“Ready, Sheriff,” Torrance said after a while. “Just pay up front.”
Rhodes took the bag containing his burger, paid, and left. He didn’t want to eat at one of the two small tables in the store, so he drove to the courthouse,
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