threw ‘em out.
Brinkman raised his eyebrows, the small smile still playing on his lips. 'And they just went?'
'No. They were lookin' for trouble.'
'Oh.' Brinkman let the smile grow. 'That what happened to your face?' he asked me.
'I was born with this face, Brinkman. Some days it just looks worse than others.'
Brinkman pushed back his hat, revealing more of his endless forehead. 'You know, a guy in your position should show more respect for the law.'
'What position am I in?'
'Hey, you're the top man on my shit list, Smith. Ahead of Tony's little shit brother, ahead of Tony, even ahead of Frank Grice. Right on top.'
'Listen, Brinkman, I'm sorry about your little plan to put a net over Grice, but it wouldn't have worked anyway. Jimmy wasn't going to deal.'
'He sure as hell was, until you and your New York Jew lawyer fucked me up. Fucked me up real good. I sneeze in this county now, my fucking county, Grice yells for his lawyer. 'Harassment.' 'Brutality.' Where the hell you think he learned that shit, Smith? Fucking city lawyer shit!'
'Too bad it's so easy to believe.'
Brinkman's mouth twisted into an ugly shape. He made a grab for me but the deputy, smooth and graceful the way a fat man can be, slipped his bulk between us, his back to me, his cushiony hands on Brinkman's arms. 'Come on, Sheriff. Everyone's upset here. I'm sure Mr. Smith didn't mean nothing by it.'
Brinkman snarled, shook the deputy off, took a step back. 'Oh, he did, Art. He sure did,' he said, controlled and soft.
He turned and looked at Wally Gould, still sitting stupidly in the dirt, staring at nothing. Then he turned back. 'All right. Upstairs. Art, call the pretty boys at the state, find out where the hell they are.' His small eyes lit with a thought. 'Smith, you packing a gun?'
'You know I am.' I held my jacket open so he could see the Colt under my left arm.
'Give it to me.'
I laughed. 'You're not in a good enough mood for me to reach for a gun, Brinkman. You take it.'
His hands clenched and he took a step toward me. Then he stopped, his eyes on mine, and the mean little smile came out of nowhere, spread like a stain across his face.
He reached for my holster, snapped the safety off, slid the gun out. It was the gun I carry when I have a choice, an old snub-nose five-shot. He looked at it wonderingly, held it out for Art to see. 'Look at this shit. Christ, Smith, why don't you get yourself a piece that works?'
'It works.'
'Oh?' He broke it open, sniffed at it. 'Maybe so. Been cleaned lately.'
'I keep it clean. I like clean things.'
'How about that, Art?' He nudged the deputy. 'A city boy that likes clean things.'
He pocketed my gun and moved toward the stairs, pushing me aside instead of stepping around me to show he could.
Upstairs the air was better. The company was the same.
Brinkman settled on a barstool, his back to the bar, his elbows resting on it. 'Where's Jimmy?' he asked Tony pleasantly.
'I ain't seen him in a coupla weeks.'
'Oh, come on, Tony. Doesn't he live with you? In that big old place your grandpa built?' Brinkman jerked a thumb in the direction of Tony's house across the road from the bar.
'He moved out Christmas.'
'You throw him out?'
Tony's eyes blazed. 'Go to hell, Brinkman.'
Brinkman smiled. 'Well, I'll find him. You seen him, Smith?'
'I just came up night before last.'
'Why?'
'Why what?'
'Why'd you come up?'
'I've been coming here for eighteen years, Brinkman. I never needed a reason before.'
'Well, city boy,' Brinkman drawled, crossing a shiny boot over his knee, 'maybe you're going to need one from now on.'
Chapter 5
The state troopers' Bureau of Criminal Investigation for the tri-county area was near Bramanville in a gray block building off the state highway. It was surrounded by a featureless field of grass and a parking lot. The grass was brown and thin now, at the chill end of winter, but spring wouldn't make much difference to it.
I was sitting where I'd been sitting for close to an hour, in a one-windowed office at the end of a narrow corridor. The walls were paneled in wood-veneer pressboard and hung with a pin-dotted county map and photos of the governor. Glass-doored bookshelves held law enforcement manuals and phonebooks. A big wooden desk with a glass top sat diagonally across a corner of the room, facing the door. I sat facing the desk.
