here. And I suspect your health sort of depends on some other people not knowing you're here'.'
'What the hell's that mean?'
'Some very heavy people went to a great deal of trouble to get me to come looking for you, honey,' I said.
'Jeez, I thought you were just mad about your girlfriend.'
'And her pistol.'
'I told you, man,' she said, 'I don't know anything about that. I've done a lot of things in my life but I've never fingered anybody.'
'What kind of things?'
'You don't want to know,' she said quietly, then hung her head for a moment, then lifted it brightly. 'So who's looking for me?' she asked casually.
'A woman named Lomax,' I said.
'I don't know anybody named Lomax,' she protested, then leaned back.
'Mrs. Lomax said you had something of hers.'
'Since I don't know who she is, I can't think what it might be,' she said, thinking it over, and didn't look up when I slipped out the door.
I traded rides with Tom Ben again, then headed out.
Thursby was sitting on a bench outside the Hays County courthouse in San Marcos, just where his secretary said he would be.
'What the hell are you doing out here?' I asked.
'Thinking about moving to California,' he said.
'What?'
'We're being homered in the courtroom so bad that I'm letting one of my junior partners handle the cross examination of the local idiot deputy who put three rounds in my client, who fit the drug runner profile in his little, pointy head, at a phony traffic stop,' Thursby said. 'One of them missed him completely and killed his girlfriend.'
'I don't understand.'
'Unfortunately, he had just enough marijuana in the trunk of his old Camaro to make it a felony possession. The deputy said my client resisted, which is stupid because the kid has a tremor from brain damage in a car wreck. The death of his girlfriend makes it a capital murder. Interesting case,' he said. 'We'll beat them like a monkey's dick on appeal, but I'm getting tired of dealing with these idiots.' Then he sighed, shook his head, and suddenly looked like an old man. 'Speaking of idiots,' he continued. 'I glanced through the Oates case file. Something's wrong, Milo. I know Steelhammer can't be bought, but he was new on the bench then, and he might have been handled. The whole thing stinks like your lazy brother-in-law's shorts.'
'I was just on my way to Huntsville,' I said.
'I'll call ahead,' he said, 'to see if I can't ease the way. Tell the kid we're going for a new trial.'
'Thanks,' I said. 'I'll cover the cost.'
'Save your money,' he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder toward the courthouse. 'I'll do it like this one. For fun. And headlines.'
'I hope you have some.'
'So where do you stand with Sylvie Lomax?'
'I haven't talked to her yet,' I said. 'I've got the McBride woman stashed in a safe place, but she's not talking. I'll cut her loose before I give her up to Rooke or Lomax.'
'Not a wise decision,' he said, 'but one I approve of highly.'
I left Thursby sitting there, his short legs swinging in the air. His feet didn't quite touch the ground, but his balls surely did.
After a troubled, almost sleepless night in a local motel not too far from Huntsville, I went out to the prison unit where Dickie Oates was lodged. Thursby's call hadn't eased my way at all. I had to use my Gatlin County DA's badge and a threat of a lawsuit to get an interview. More than my welcome had changed. This time we talked through thick Plexiglas with worn telephones in an oddly empty visiting room. Dickie Oates, who looked ten years older, sat down quickly, picked up the phone, then placed his other hand against the barrier. I read the ballpoint message on his palm.
'Can you do that, man?' he said. 'My folks will pay you back. That's the only way I could get out of the ad-seg.' When I looked confused at the term, he added, 'The hole, man.'
'You got it,' I said, nodding to the officer who stood against the wall behind Dickie Oates. But the CO's face was as blank as the wall. 'Cooley,' his nametag said. 'Two things,' I said. 'Phil Thursby's office will be in touch with you shortly. He's going to try for a new trial.'
'Great,' he said. 'What's the other thing?' I unrolled the picture of Amanda Rae Quarrels against the Plexiglas. 'That's one of them.'
'One of them?'
'Before they put me in the hole,' he said, 'I had this guy on the yard – a shrink in on a drug rap – hypnotize me. There were a bunch of women there, kicking the shit out of that Duval asshole when he went down. I was on the ground by then and I was still there when the shotgun went off the second time.' Then he paused. 'Does that help?'
'Sure,' I said, 'sure.' Though I didn't have the vaguest idea if it helped or not. I didn't even know what it meant. 'What did you do to get put in the hole?'
'Looked at somebody the wrong way,' he said. 'That's all it takes these days.'
'Hang tough, kid,' I said, then left.
The Attitude Adjustment was a bunkerlike cinder block bar set in the middle of an asphalt parking lot just off the Interstate across the Madison County line. Although it wasn't quite ten o'clock in the morning, I had trouble finding a parking place among the pickups and four-wheel-drive units sporting Department of Correction parking stickers. The off-shift. COs who filled the bar all stared at me when I opened the front door. Pool players hung over their shots, their heads turned, many drinks paused in midair. I tried not to look guilty but the looks on their faces suggested that I failed. I found an empty table in the darkest corner I could find. The cocktail waitress, a tall, skinny woman with stringy black hair, showed up quickly, her bony jaw working at a piece of chewing gum.
'What can I do for y'all, partner?' she asked.
'A can of Coors,' I said. 'Is Ramona Cooley working today?'
'I'm Ramona,' she said. 'You got something for me?' I nodded, but she took off for the bar, her tray winging before her. She was back in a moment with my beer. When she leaned over to set it down, she popped out her gum, and stuck it under the table as she whispered, 'Stick it there.' Then louder she said, 'You passin' through or visitin'?'
'Heading for Houston,' I said.
I stuck the envelopeful of cash to Ramona Cooley's gum, then drank my beer rather quickly and uncomfortably. She brought me another without being asked. The envelope went away with her. People had stopped looking at me with narrowed eyes, so I stopped chugging my beer. She brought me a third, again without being asked. I gave her a ten and told her to keep the change. But she made change anyway, leaning over me as she counted it out.
'Cooley's worked inside a long time, buddy, and he thinks Dickie Oates is bein' screwed,' she whispered, 'and we hate to take the money. But you know how it is. Thanks a bunch, hon.'
I finished my beer, left the change, and walked through the silent stares.
TWELVE
The copy of the file on Dickie Oates was still at Carver D's, so I stopped there when I got back to Austin. The
