cleared.
'Never had the pleasure,' I said, 'but I hear that hitting a golf ball well is damn near as hard as hitting a major league slider.'
'I wouldn't know about that,' Gannon said. 'I had a ton of other problems – couldn't hit the fucking Double A batting practice curveball, couldn't block a low fast slider, and my peg to second wasn't all that hot.'
'Couldn't have been all that bad if you made it to Double A ball.'
'Got a tryout because my Dad knew a scout for the Red Sox,' Gannon admitted. 'What about you? You ever play any ball?'
'Football. Pulling guard on the last small-college single-wing team in America,' I said. 'I could knock you out of your socks. If you were standing still.'
'I always hated football,' Gannon said. 'Still do. And here I'm living in the hell of football heaven.' Then he paused. 'You still not going to talk to me without your lawyer?'
'Not one fucking word,' I said.
'You're not even going to tell me why you boys were wearing vests?'
'Just luck,' I said. 'So why don't you put me in back of the unit or a cell or anyplace I can get these cuffs off. My back's killing me.'
Gannon motioned to Culbertson, who unlocked the cuffs. 'I've sure been seeing too much of you guys together,' he said in an oddly flat voice, as if he was no longer amused by his own joke. 'Go home, you old bastard, you're a victim here, and discharging a firearm is a misdemeanor,' he said. 'Besides, I know where you live. Unfortunately. I'm sure you've got another piece someplace, but I'm keeping this one.'
I hesitated only long enough to ask two questions: where they had taken Renfro; and what number had answered when he pushed star 69 on the cell phone from Molly McBride's fanny pack.
'Crime scene crew didn't find a fanny pack, Milo,' he said. 'Maybe your ears were just ringing.'
'Yeah, and maybe his nuts were calling his dick,' I said. 'Long distance.'
Culbertson started to say something, but Gannon cut him off. 'You're in enough trouble, old man, without making bad jokes,' he said. Then gave the deputy a grim look when he didn't successfully stifle his giggle.
Renfro didn't look all that good late that afternoon when they let me visit him briefly in his room at Breckenridge Hospital – gray-faced and sprouting tubes like a space monster, his shattered hand wrapped like a mummy's – but he managed a slight smile when he saw me.
'How the hell did you get in?' Renfro whispered.
'I told them I worked for Hair de Temps,' I admitted.
Renfro laughed so hard that his tubes rattled dangerously. 'You don't look much like a hairdresser,' he finally managed to say.
'I think they were afraid to ask. You okay?'
'Thanks to the vest,' Renfro whispered. 'But I won't be cuttin' hair for a while. They're not going to work on my hand until they make up their mind about my spleen. See if it stops bleeding, or something. They seem to think I'm going to lose my spleen, maybe. What the hell's a spleen do, anyway?'
'I'm not sure,' I said, 'but I know you can live without it.'
'That's what they said, but it's nice to hear it from you,' Renfro said. 'They said they put all my stuff in a bag underneath the night stand. How come you put Sissy's money back in my pocket?'
'Didn't want the cops to take it off me.'
'Thanks. Maybe you should take charge of it? I don't want to have to explain it to my mother. She's not fond of Sissy.'
'Let me count it,' I suggested, 'then I'll give you a receipt, and stash it in the safe at the Lodge. If Sissy calls, tell her to messenger me a note at the Lodge – no telephone calls – and I'll get the money to her. It's probably not necessary, but be sure to tell her not to use her credit cards, no matter what.' Then I counted the cash.
'You know,' Renfro whispered hoarsely, 'I thought she was just in one of her self-dramatization modes but I guess I was wrong.'
'You know, you said ten grand didn't seem like enough cash for a woman like Sissy to get very far away. Any idea where she might be headed?'
'Sissy's got some kind of under-the-table income nobody knows about, a sugar daddy or something, you know,' Renfro said, 'and she can take care of herself. She comes from tough Texas root stock. Back in the twenties, her great-grand-daddy, ol' Homer Logan, raised the cash to sink his first dry hole by standing ass-deep in an East Texas slough from daylight to dark, skimming runoff crude with five-gallon cans.'
'His first dry hole?'
'And his second,' Renfro said, oddly proud, 'but he finally brought in a well on his third try. The family's made the transition from oil field royalty to oil field trash two or three times, you know, and Sissy was along for the ride the last couple.'
'You know Sissy's housekeeper?'
'Her cousin Eldora? She's a paid companion, not a housekeeper,' Renfro said. 'She keeps her from falling completely into the vodka and the cocaine. She's been watching out for Sissy since they were children.'
'Any chance she might tell you where Sissy might be?'
'Only if she wanted to,' he said, chuckling tiredly. 'Eldora is tougher than a cheap steak.'
Renfro chuckled once more, then began to fade under the weight of the drugs. I put the receipt in his night table sack, then turned to leave.
'I gotta ask, you know,' Renfro whispered from the bed. 'How come that guy was shooting at us?'
'Got tired of waiting for Sissy, I guess,' I answered. 'I'll check on you tomorrow,' I said. 'You take care of yourself.'
Renfro smiled sleepily as I left.
Walking down the hallway I dug out the five hundred that Renfro had given me, then stuffed that into the envelope. Hell, I guess I've never done any of this shit for money. I tried to count up all the money I'd spent since beginning the search for Carol Jean Warren. But given the way things were going, it seemed a bit early to start counting the costs. Even if I could.
I went out to the Lodge to stash Sissy's money in the safe, then spent a bit of time making sure that I didn't have a tail, drove back to the safe locker, where I picked up a less bulky vest, another Browning Hi-Power, a stash of codeine, a pile of running cash, my second best set of false identity papers, and a bag of traveling clothes. Then it was back to Austin to the Four Seasons, where I used the fake identification to register, let the bellhop take my bag, then shouldered through the five o'clock crowd to have a quick drink before I went to the hotel down the street to use a pay phone. I called Betty on her cell phone.
'Where the hell've you been?' she asked. 'You didn't even leave a note, you bastard.'
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you,' I said. 'And I didn't think I'd be gone that long. Where are you right now?'
'Standing in your room and tapping my foot like a mad housewife.'
'This fuckin' shit's way out of hand,' I said. A woman at the pay phone bank beside me, who could have been a hooker or an heiress, in a leather coat with a wolf fur collar and snakeskin boots, looked at my rumpled, sandy clothes, then crinkled her nose as if she smelled a fart. So I gave her the opportunity. Then I made the mistake of laughing as she huffed away. 'Maybe you should take a trip or something, hon,' I said to Betty.
'I don't take a step without you, bud,' she answered sharply. 'I don't know what you've got yourself into, but I'm in it with you.'
'Somebody took a couple of shots at me last night,' I said, knowing as soon as the words left my mouth that they were the wrong ones. Betty became even more adamant. Finally, she wore me down. I needed another drink, some food, and a long nap. 'Fuck it,' I said, sighing tiredly. 'Pack a bag. I'll send somebody you know to pick you up and bring you to me.'
'Are you sure you're all right?' Betty asked.
'I'm just tired, hon,' I admitted. 'I need a night's sleep before I think about this shit… I'll see you in a bit.' Then
