'Didn't care to fight the Dell?'
'Not at these prices,' Walker said.
My coffee was gone. I went over to the Mr. Coffee on the top of the file and poured another cup. I brought it back and sat down again across from Walker.
'I wish I owned a swell cup like this,' I said.
'I know,' Walker said. 'I feel very lucky.'
'Preacher got anything to say?'
'Not yet.'
'He will,' I said, 'when it's time to save his ass.'
Walker smiled.
'How cynical,' he said.
'I'm trying to change,' I said.
'Never too late,' he said. 'Cawley Dark's coming down to talk to The Preacher about Steve Buckman.'
'I don't think The Preacher did it,' I said.
'He did something,' Walker said.
'I don't want to bag him for something he didn't do,' I said.
'I'll take what I can get,' Walker said.
We were quiet. We drank some coffee in the cool empty room. Mr. Coffee had done a nice job. The coffee was good.
'What about Mark Ratliff?' I said.
'I don't got Mark Ratliff in a cell,' Walker said. 'I got The Preacher.'
'And you're willing to railroad him?'
'The Preacher's a creep,' Walker said. 'He was out to kill you. He's probably killed a lot of people. Just because maybe he didn't kill Stevie Buckman is no reason not to hang him for it.'
'How cynical,' I said.
'I'm trying to change,' Walker said, and smiled.
We drank some more coffee. The hushed sound of the air-conditioning made the room seem even quieter than it would have with no sound at all.
'Ratliff's missing,' I said.
'That's what his secretary says.'
'You been looking for him?'
'I'm a one-man department,' Walker said. 'I been kinda busy.'
'I owe you for that time in the street,' I said. 'And I owe you more for showing up when you did yesterday.'
Walker nodded and said nothing.
'But I don't owe you everything there is.'
'You don't owe me nothing,' Walker said. 'I was doing what I'm supposed to do.'
'And now you're not. I came out here to find out who killed Steve Buckman, not just clear the case.'
Walker was silent.
Then he said, 'I think maybe it's time you went home.'
'Not yet,' I said.
'Whatever you might think,' Walker said, 'I'm what this place has got for law. I could shoot you dead for resisting arrest, and no one would say shit.'
'Someone might,' I said.
Walker smiled again, but not because he was happy.
'You're an optimistic bastard,' he said.
I finished my coffee and put the empty mug down on the edge of Walker's desk and stood up.
'Persistent, too,' I said.
Chapter 62
IT WAS OUR last breakfast together. We were eating omelets with onions, made, and beautifully, by me. Everyone was at the table in the kitchen, except Bobby Horse, who was propped up on a couch that Chollo and Hawk had dragged in from the living room. A local doctor had done what he could for Bobby Horse, put a cast on the knee, and had given him a large supply of Percocet. The Percocet made him quieter, which I would have thought impossible.
