Jesse nodded.
“You like this job?” Lutz said.
“Yes.”
“I heard you was on the job in L.A. before this.”
“Robbery Homicide,” Jesse said.
“You got fired,” Lutz said.
2 7 8
H I G H P R O F I L E
“Drunk on duty,” Jesse said.
“Wife troubles?”
“Some.”
Lutz drank some whiskey.
“They’ll drive you right into the bottle, you let them,” he said.
Jesse didn’t answer. Lutz didn’t expect him to. It was as if Jesse were barely there.
“So you ended up here,” Lutz said. “And started over.”
Jesse waited. Lutz drank.
“And starting over worked,” Lutz said.
“So far,” Jesse said. “Sort of.”
Lutz shook his head.
“Too late,” he said.
“For you?”
Lutz nodded. He was looking at his glass of whiskey. It looked good to him. He drank some.
“Bad mistake,” he said. “Bringing it here.”
Jesse was very still.
“Figured I had them up here anyway,” Lutz said, “I dump them here, small town, some fucking hillbilly cop would be stepping on his own dick trying to figure out what to do.”
Lutz added some ice to his glass, and some more whiskey.
“Drink enough, it doesn’t do any good anymore,” he said.
“Doesn’t change the way you feel anymore.”
He drank again.
“Helps you talk, though,” he said. “Instead of a hillbilly, I got you.”
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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
Jesse nodded.
