“Come in, boy, and join the party,” he said.
He handed me the flask. “I’m on duty,” I said.
“Well, so am I. A little hooch improves duty.”
He sure was an ugly cuss, who reminded me of a bullfrog, except bullfrogs look nicer and got no hair. Nippers had hair going in the wrong direction all the time, which he oiled down with lamb fat or something. It sure made the top of his head look slippery, which is probably how his mind worked too. I never met no one with such a slippery mind as Judge Nippers. He made most of the county lawyers look like virgins.
I took the flask, since he was wavin’ it before my eyes like I had some duty to perform, and sipped a little. It sure wasn’t red-eye; it was something smooth and fine. He must have got it sent to Doubtful, because there wasn’t stuff like that served in any saloon I knew of.
“You’ve come to talk about the hanging,” he said. “You’re going to tell me you’re not up to pulling that lever and sending that brat to his fate. You’re going to tell me to bring in a professional hangman.”
“Well, it crossed my mind,” I said.
“You don’t enjoy hangings.”
“Well, it ain’t high on my list of pleasures.”
“It beats having a woman, but isn’t as good as a satisfying trip to the outhouse. A good trip to the outhouse is the most underrated event on earth.”
I sure didn’t know how to talk to a judge talkin’ like that. He nipped another sip from his flask and smiled, revealing yeller teeth between crusty lips.
“You nip your way through a trial?” I asked.
“A good nip improves the sentence. I never lay a sentence on anyone until I’ve refueled a little.”
“Improves?”
“You bet, young fellow. Justice is sublime. It takes a keen understanding to fashion a sentence that fits the crime. A good nip will inspire me to improve the sentence by two or three years.”
I hardly dared ask which direction. He smiled cheerfully, and scratched flakes of dry flesh off his jowls. “I believe you repaired to my chambers to discuss something,” he said.
“I don’t need to repair nothing.”
“Repaired, to make one’s way.”
“You sure got a few years of school on me, Judge.”
“You can cure that with a sip or two.”
“I guess what I come to ask is whether you can stop a hanging.”
“Yes, I can stay it.”
“What would that take?”
“New and compelling evidence.”
“Otherwise, you just let her rip?”
“Otherwise, you the sheriff will pull the lever, and our young prisoner drops about ten feet and dangles with a broken neck, and justice is entirely done, and the world is made whole again.”
“I’ve got an itch about this, Your Honesty.”
“Your Honor.”
“My honor’s fine. Doing a hanging’s about as hard as it goes, but there’s one thing worse.”
“Worse, worse? How could anything be worse?”
“Hanging an innocent man.”
“Ah, you’re getting soft. I thought you were a tough sonofabitch, Pickens. You’ve gone soft on me.”
“I do what I have to do, sir.”
“I can see it. About ten minutes before you’re required to pull the lever at eleven in the morning, and drop King Bragg, you’ll resign. You’ll say you’re not up to sheriffing anymore, so here’s the badge, and you’re on your way to California or the Fiji Islands or someplace like that where you can eat coconuts, and sun on the beach. Fess up now, Pickens. I’ve got the measure of you.”
“You calling me something?”
He smiled. “Nothing you wouldn’t call yourself.”
That sure hurt. I sorta had to admit to it, all right. I just ached not to say another word, but I made myself. “I sorta think maybe the Bragg boy’s innocent.”
“Innocent? Just by carrying the name of Bragg, he’s guilty as hell.”
“Well, I’m not sure he done it. I think something happened in there and I don’t know what, and I need to find out.”
“This is pure cotton.”
“Well, that’s how I’m called, all right, but I’ve learned a few things.”
