Read Online When It All Comes Down to Dust (Phoenix Noir Book 3) by Barry Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barry Graham
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millions of them every year. I’ve thought about getting another one, but Tubby Franklin’s so territorial, I don’t think it would work. I’m gone a lot of the time too, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s always been pretty solitary.”
“Did you get him at the pound?”
“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t gonna buy one for hundreds of bucks when I could save one from getting killed for forty.”
“You know I have to ask you about his name, right?”
“Yep.” Laura was sitting on the floor by the couch. “You’re not the first. I got him when I lived in Chattanooga, and everybody in the South has a dumb name...”
“Bigot.”
“Nope, a bigot talks shit about a place and its people out of ignorance. I talk shit about Tennessee from having living there. Most places, no matter what the stereotype is, you spend enough time there and you start to see past the stereotype. But in Tennessee there is nothing but the stereotype.”
“Uh-huh. So, Tubby Franklin...?”
“In Tennessee, a person’s name won’t be, say, William ‘Bill’ Smith, with ‘Bill’ being the nickname, obviously – in Tennessee, the name, the actual name on the birth certificate, will be Bill William Smith.”
“You mean the first name’s Bill and the middle name’s William?”
“I shit you not. And there is a gentleman in the fine city of Chattanooga whose real name is Tubby Franklin Merridew.”
“Dear God.”
“Check him out if you don’t believe me – he’s the editor of the local paper, and, Chattanooga being Good Ol’ Boy Central, he’s also on the Chamber of Commerce. And he writes speeches for local politicians.”
David laughed. “That’s so blatant, you almost have to admire it.”
“I know. That’s how I felt. At first I was disgusted but then I got to be amused. Anyway,” she said, motioning towards Tubby Franklin, “I got his stripy ass from the pound, and, even though he came from kitty Death Row, he had such an entitled, aristocratic attitude, I just had to name him after Mr. Merridew.”
“That is so cool. I’ve actually thought about getting a pet pig just so I can name it Jerry, after my editor.”
––––––––
T he Denny’s was on the corner of Camelback Road and 24 th Avenue. Frank parked his car and went inside and got a seat in a booth at the window. The waitress came over, and she actually called him “Hon,” and he ordered coffee, and then he looked at the menu, at all the different food he could choose from, and he wanted all of it, but he finally ordered a chicken-fried steak. When the waitress asked him if he wanted soup or salad, he though she was saying “super salad”, and he said yes, and then she asked which of the two he wanted, and he got it, and asked for soup.
It was French onion soup and it was so good, and so was the steak, even though probably nobody else would have thought so. Frank chewed each mouthful slowly, not wanting it to be over. When he’d eaten everything on his plate, he wanted to order another one, but he knew he was too full to be able to eat any more, so he just ordered more coffee and looked out of the window as he drank it, looked at the night, at what he had now, at what he might have.
His wristwatch told him it was time to head back to the halfway house. He paid his bill and left a tip, and the waitress said, “Come back and see us soon, hon,” and Frank said, “I will.”
––––––––
L aura lay in bed, on her side, as David held her from behind. The light was off, and a scented candle flickered on the nightstand.
“What time do you need the alarm set for?” Laura said.
“Whenever.”
“Damn, I want to be you when I grow up.”
“Hey, I have to work plenty. I just get to set the hours. Unlike a certain drain on society...” He kissed her bare shoulder.
“Shut up. As of Monday, I’ll be a serf. Eight till five.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. And those were the hours I put in at Capital Habeas. At least those
“Did you get him at the pound?”
“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t gonna buy one for hundreds of bucks when I could save one from getting killed for forty.”
“You know I have to ask you about his name, right?”
“Yep.” Laura was sitting on the floor by the couch. “You’re not the first. I got him when I lived in Chattanooga, and everybody in the South has a dumb name...”
“Bigot.”
“Nope, a bigot talks shit about a place and its people out of ignorance. I talk shit about Tennessee from having living there. Most places, no matter what the stereotype is, you spend enough time there and you start to see past the stereotype. But in Tennessee there is nothing but the stereotype.”
“Uh-huh. So, Tubby Franklin...?”
“In Tennessee, a person’s name won’t be, say, William ‘Bill’ Smith, with ‘Bill’ being the nickname, obviously – in Tennessee, the name, the actual name on the birth certificate, will be Bill William Smith.”
“You mean the first name’s Bill and the middle name’s William?”
“I shit you not. And there is a gentleman in the fine city of Chattanooga whose real name is Tubby Franklin Merridew.”
“Dear God.”
“Check him out if you don’t believe me – he’s the editor of the local paper, and, Chattanooga being Good Ol’ Boy Central, he’s also on the Chamber of Commerce. And he writes speeches for local politicians.”
David laughed. “That’s so blatant, you almost have to admire it.”
“I know. That’s how I felt. At first I was disgusted but then I got to be amused. Anyway,” she said, motioning towards Tubby Franklin, “I got his stripy ass from the pound, and, even though he came from kitty Death Row, he had such an entitled, aristocratic attitude, I just had to name him after Mr. Merridew.”
“That is so cool. I’ve actually thought about getting a pet pig just so I can name it Jerry, after my editor.”
––––––––
T he Denny’s was on the corner of Camelback Road and 24 th Avenue. Frank parked his car and went inside and got a seat in a booth at the window. The waitress came over, and she actually called him “Hon,” and he ordered coffee, and then he looked at the menu, at all the different food he could choose from, and he wanted all of it, but he finally ordered a chicken-fried steak. When the waitress asked him if he wanted soup or salad, he though she was saying “super salad”, and he said yes, and then she asked which of the two he wanted, and he got it, and asked for soup.
It was French onion soup and it was so good, and so was the steak, even though probably nobody else would have thought so. Frank chewed each mouthful slowly, not wanting it to be over. When he’d eaten everything on his plate, he wanted to order another one, but he knew he was too full to be able to eat any more, so he just ordered more coffee and looked out of the window as he drank it, looked at the night, at what he had now, at what he might have.
His wristwatch told him it was time to head back to the halfway house. He paid his bill and left a tip, and the waitress said, “Come back and see us soon, hon,” and Frank said, “I will.”
––––––––
L aura lay in bed, on her side, as David held her from behind. The light was off, and a scented candle flickered on the nightstand.
“What time do you need the alarm set for?” Laura said.
“Whenever.”
“Damn, I want to be you when I grow up.”
“Hey, I have to work plenty. I just get to set the hours. Unlike a certain drain on society...” He kissed her bare shoulder.
“Shut up. As of Monday, I’ll be a serf. Eight till five.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. And those were the hours I put in at Capital Habeas. At least those
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