The Big Book of Hap and Leonard Read online

  I pulled his gun from its holster, just in case he might be stronger than he looked, though the way he lay there he gave the impression that lifting his fingers would be a serious workout. I lifted his head up so he wouldn’t choke on his blood. I turned my head, said to the young man: “Your name is Jackie, right?”

  He nodded.

  “You have the sports coat man there give you his coat.”

  “My arm hurts,” Crew Cut said. “And I like this coat.”

  “Give him the coat anyway,” I said, “or you won’t have to worry about hurting.”

  Jackie went over and Crew Cut worked his way out of the coat. Jackie brought the coat to me. He said, “Don’t hurt Nora. This wasn’t any of her idea.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I said, “but she isn’t going to get hurt as long as she doesn’t get cute. Now, sit down there on the ground in front of my car.”

  Jackie went over and did just that. I rolled the coat up and put it under Speed’s head.

  “Bullet didn’t have much impact,” Speed said, still gurgling blood.

  “It was enough,” I said.

  “I mean I didn’t feel it so much,” he said. “But I can hardly move.”

  “That’s because you haven’t had time to feel it,” I said. “Now shut up. You’re spitting blood.”

  Speed lay quietly on the sports coat.

  I got out my cell phone and made a call.

  Next day we were at Marvin’s office, in our usual spots. Marvin behind his desk, me in the chair in front of it, Leonard sitting by the coffee machine, munching on vanilla wafers. At least he had bought those with his own money.

  Marvin said, “I called you here to tell you the cops believe your story, about how you thought you were just getting the girl back and they tried to kill you, so you shot them. They’re not too happy about you going out there without calling them, not telling them what the deal was, but I think they’re in a forgiving mood. They been wanting Cox on something that would stick, and you two talking at a trial, and Givens talking to save his own bacon, that’ll nail him. And way I figure it is you’ll be all right ’cause they’ll be shit-blind happy you helped nail Cox.”

  “What about Speed?” I said.

  “They think he’s going to make it and get to go to prison,” Marvin said. “He appears to be as tough as boot leather.”

  “But he’s not near as fast as he thought he was,” Leonard said. “My man here is like fucking Wild Bill Hickock.”

  “I got lucky,” I said. “And I shot him while he was talking.”

  “Well,” Marvin said, “I think his future career is woodshop in prison.”

  “What about Nora?” I asked.

  “The kid, Jackie, he’s saying she didn’t know anything about it, and so’s the old man. She’s gone back to her stepmother. I think the cops will let that stand. Givens will get some time too. He’s backing Jackie’s story about the girl having nothing to do with it. Guess he wanted to have the same story Cox had. He’s helping put Cox in prison, but maybe he didn’t want to go the whole hog, thinks he might get a brownie point or two.”

  “Think he will?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Marvin said. “They will most likely have him shanked in prison. They do, no tears here.”

  Leonard said, “Me either.”

  I have to admit, I didn’t see myself shedding tears for that lying, conniving weasel.

  “I believe Nora thought she found true love,” I said, “and would get some money out of her father, and she’d have some teenage revenge on her stepmother. For what, I’m not sure, but it seems that’s how she was thinking. She was close to her, but maybe she got unclose when she started to grow up and thought Daddy was putting more attention into Sharon than her. No idea really.”

  “Frankly,” Leonard said, “my take is she’s just stupid. Probably glad it’s over, probably glad to be home. Probably forget Jackie in a year’s time. You can bet the way she’ll tell it to Sharon is she was forced. I think that little shit’s a born liar. One of those entitled turds who think they have the best of everything coming just because they are who they think they are, not necessarily who they are.”

  “That’s some serious psychoanalyst shit going on there,” I said.

  “Naw,” Leonard said. “I just sort of made that up.”

  “Actually, that’s what I really thought,” I said.

  “I think that’s what Sharon wants her to do—just pretend things are fine between them until they are,” Leonard said. “In the long run, I think she figures what really happened won’t matter, and she’s probably right. And maybe Nora really did find true love, because Jackie didn’t tell it different, and Cox didn’t say his son was lying, so you got to give the old man points for going with what his son said. I think the cops want to let Nora go. They got the fish they wanted to fry and could care less about the minnows.”

  “Cox family values,” I said. “Kind of touching. Go figure.”

  Brett and I were lying in bed. I said, “I love you.”

  Brett turned and put her arm across my chest. “I love you too.”

  “I asked you to marry me, would you? Right now, if I asked?”

  “Are you asking?”

  “I’m running a test,” I said.

  “A test, huh,” Brett said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know, baby. Really, I don’t. I want to, but you know, I got married once before and it ended with me setting my husband’s head on fire.”

  “So, you get married, you have to go for gasoline and a match?”

  She laughed.

  “No, I’m just saying what happened before, my first attempt at wedded bliss. What I’d say about us is this. Let’s give it some thought. Let’s see if it’s something that really matters, and if it does, we’ll get past talking about it. Maybe we’ll decide things are just fine the way they are and we don’t need a piece of paper.”

  “It’s not the paper, it’s the commitment.”

  “I know. I’m just saying let’s think about how much it matters to us. Give it some thought, some time.”

  “All right,” I said.

  “Do you want to play doctor?”

  “No,” I said. “I’d just like to hold you.”

  “Really?” she said.

  “Really.”

  “That works too,” Brett said, and so I held her.

  A Bone-Dead Sadness

  It was about one o’clock in the afternoon with nothing to do but read email. It was mostly ads. Marvin Hanson was trying to figure out how to filter the ads, and not having much luck at it, when he came across an email to his website that was interesting.

  It said:

  MR. HANSON. I WANT TO HIRE YOU OR YOUR OPERATIVES, IF YOU HAVE ANY. MONEY IS NOT AN ISSUE. WELL, IT MIGHT BE AN ISSUE IF YOU ASK FOR TOO MUCH, BUT OTHERWISE, IF YOU’RE INTERESTED, COME OUT TO TIMBER LAKE DRIVE, 113, AND TALK TO ME ABOUT THREE P.M. TODAY. MILDRED CRAVER.

  Hanson leaned back in his desk chair and thought a moment. He looked at his watch. He had come in late today, starting with lunch, and had only been in the office thirty minutes. It was already one-thirty.

  Marvin leaned forward and typed: SEE YOU THEN, MARVIN HANSON.

  Marvin sat in his desk for a moment and considered. He knew the area of the address in the email. Once nice, kind of gone to seed, but there were people out there that had money. Mildred said it wasn’t an issue, but she had also curiously, and perhaps with humorous intent, added the part about asking too much.

  There hadn’t been much in the way of work lately, and certainly not enough to hire any operatives, that being mostly two of his friends, Hap Collins and Leonard Pine. They weren’t worth messing with unless there was real business to take care of. Actually, friends or not, they were kind of a pain in the ass.

  Nope. This was one he’d take care of himself.

  Considering his leg, which had given him grief for some time due to a car accident, was much better, he thought he
could handle it all himself. He still carried a cane, but mostly for psychological support. It was also a good weapon if he should need it. He thought about getting himself one with a sword inside of it, but it probably wouldn’t play out well if he ended up using it. For now, he’d stick to the cane he had—solid hickory with a knob, not a hook.

  Marvin got up without use of the cane and made a cup of coffee. He drank that while he sat at his desk reading the rest of his email. That finished, he made a phone call to his wife. Their marriage had a few bumps they were ironing out, and had been ironing out for years, but Marvin knew he had brought it on himself. Fact was, the wreck that had messed up his leg and nearly killed him had involved a girlfriend he was seeing.

  Pussy.

  It made a man crazy. Even a good man, and he liked to think that’s what he was. But the thing was, he had cheated on his wife, and she knew, and she took him back. Even if she did remind him of it daily, and not always directly. She didn’t have to. She just gave him a look that made him feel like a worm on a hot rock. She did it less as time went on, and he liked to think he had proven to her that he had acquired better sense, but a certain element of trust had been lost, and maybe forever.

  Anyway, he called her. It was a short talk, and mostly pleasant. She no longer checked on him, which was a mixed bag. It either meant she trusted him a lot more than before or just didn’t care anymore.

  When they finished talking, he fiddled with the email awhile longer, then pulled a book out of his desk drawer and read a bit of it. It was pretty good. Hank and Muddy, by Stephen Mertz.

  He put it away after an hour and drove over to Starbucks and bought some coffee at the drive-through. It was better than the coffee he made. Decaf with soy milk and two artificial sweeteners. He sipped it as he drove out to Timber Lake Drive.

  When he got there he saw the area had gone downhill a might more than he thought, but the house he was looking for hadn’t gone downhill at all. In fact, it was sitting on top of one surrounded by trees. The yard looked as if it had just been clipped and the sky even looked brighter over the roof, as if the sunlight had saved itself for that location.

  Marvin parked and got out. He had left his cane at the office, on purpose, now he was having second thoughts. He limped a little as he went up the steps and knocked on the door. After a short time, a middle-aged woman answered.

  “Mrs. Craver?” Marvin asked.

  She smiled. “I am, but I think you’re looking for the other Mrs. Craver. Babe Craver. That’s what everyone calls her. My mother-in-law. Would you please come in?”

  Marvin did just that. It was a nice house. Not a mansion, but nice. The younger Mrs. Craver went away in search of the older.

  When the older Mrs. Craver showed up, she looked old enough to have ridden in on a mammoth. She moved well enough, but there was something about her gait that gave the impression that she was near worn out. She had very white false teeth that fit like they were too big for her mouth. She had hair that looked more orange than red and her face was marked with lines that looked to have been the results of chickens scratching through the pale powder on her face. Her lipstick was a little lopsided, like a monkey had put it on her in the dark. Marvin judged her age to be about Three B.C.

  “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Hanson?” she said.

  There was a couch, so Marvin sat. She sat too, though it took her awhile. Marvin commiserated. He wasn’t her age, but his leg had given him hell for quite a few years, so he recognized how she was trying not to show pain. He liked her immediately. Old as history, and tough as stone.

  “Are you open to all manner of investigation?” she asked.

  “I think I am. I have to hear the job to know.”

  “Do you rough people up?”

  “Not that I’d admit to.”

  The old woman grinned her false teeth. “That’s all right. I was just checking. I don’t want you to beat anyone up. I just like to know if you’re a tough guy.”

  “Do I need to be?”

  “Nope. But my husband was, and I liked that about him. He was a good guy, but he was tough. They don’t make men tough anymore. You look pretty tough though.”

  “It would take a dog a long time to eat me, I think.”

  “Ha,” she said. “What I want is to find out what happened to my son, Tom.”

  “How long has he been missing?”

  “Twenty-five years.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yep. Yikes. He went missing twenty-five years ago and I haven’t so much as heard a peep from him. I figure he’s dead, but I’d like you to look into it. If he is dead, I’d like to know how he ended up and where he is before I pass away. I don’t know how long I got left, but I wouldn’t count on much. I got up this morning and felt so bad I thought I was dead for a couple of hours.”

  “You look spry enough,” Marvin said.

  “You sweet liar.”

  “When was he last seen and where?”

  “The bank, twenty-five years ago,” said the younger Mrs. Craver, who was entering the room again, carrying a tray with a pitcher of ice tea on it and three glasses. Marvin had heard her banging around in the kitchen and had hoped some kind of drink would be the result.

  “This is my daughter-in-law, Frankie,” said Mrs. Craver. “She lives with me.”

  “I’m more like a daughter,” Frankie said.

  “True enough,” Mrs. Craver said.

  Frankie sat. She was a thick lady with thick ankles and a thick neck. Her face showed a former beauty hidden under some fat. “He came to see me at the bank, and that was the last time anyone saw him.”

  “Just a visit?”

  “Actually. . . ,” Frankie glanced at Mrs. Craver when she spoke.

  “It’s okay,” Mrs. Craver said. “He’s going to find him, he’s got to have the whole package.”

  “He was fresh out of prison and he came to see me about money.”

  “Your money or the bank’s?” Marvin asked.

  “My money that he wanted to make his money,” Frankie said. “I didn’t give it to him.”

  “Tom had his faults,” Mrs. Craver said. “And in fact, he was a shit and not worth the powder to blow him up. But he was my son, and in some place deep in the back of my old withered heart, I love him and want to know what happened to him. I presume an untimely end. But after twenty-five years, the police, and four private investigators who have found nothing, I thought I’d give it another try. I was told at the police department that you used to be a cop and that you were known to manage some tough jobs, and sometimes you were known to stretch things a little, but not so much that they snapped.”

  “Not that anyone knows about,” Marvin said.

  “I’m not sure you’re joking,” Mrs. Craver said.

  Marvin didn’t say anything to that.

  “No matter what the outcome,” Mrs. Craver said, “I’d like to know what happened to him.”

  “Tell me about his coming to see you,” Marvin said to Frankie.

  “I worked a desk in the bank,” Frankie said. “The Standard Bank. I was a loan officer. That’s when the bank was in the old section. Before the newer section was built.”

  Marvin considered that. The old bank had been scheduled to be torn down at one time, until the historical society made a big stink about it. There was history with the old bank. Once it had been robbed at the turn of the century. One of the first robberies by car, before all the famous guys like Bonnie and Clyde came along. Marvin didn’t really remember all that much about it.

  “He came to see me, wanting money,” Frankie said. “It was about closing time, and I remembered the whole thing embarrassed me. I didn’t give him any money. He left. That was the last time I ever saw him. That was the last time anyone in the bank ever saw him. No one else has ever claimed to have seen him since.”

  “The law, the private detectives,” Marvin asked. “Did they come up with anything?”

  Mrs. Craver tapped some thin folders that were ly
ing on the coffee table between them. “These are the police reports, and the reports from the private investigators. Well, three of them. The fourth took our money and went to bars and never looked any farther than the bartender. We sued him. We won, but he didn’t have any money and he spent ours.”

  “All right,” Marvin said. “Any special interests or friends that Tom may have had? That kind of thing.”

  “He was short in the friend department,” Frankie said. “He was, of all things, a rodeo clown for awhile, then a circus clown. He actually ran off to the circus.”

  “When he was eighteen,” Mrs. Craver said. “He was our youngest. All the other kids, and there are three others, did quite well for themselves. But Tom, he was always a pain in the ass. He took gymnastics, and baseball, and was good at all of them.”

  “He was a contortionist in the circus,” Frankie said. “I figured when he went away that day, he just joined back up with the circus.”

  “I believe it was actually a carnival that he worked for,” Mrs. Craver said.

  “Whatever,” Frankie said. “He worked for them from time to time. He could dislocate his shoulders and put his foot behind his head. It wasn’t a skill that served him well outside of the carnival, and he didn’t work there often. He was always looking for the easy way out.”

  “You don’t sound like you miss him much,” Marvin said to Frankie.

  Frankie looked at Mrs. Craver.

  “It’s okay, dear,” Mrs. Craver said. “I understand that you two weren’t that close. Not in the end. It doesn’t matter.”

  Frankie reached out and touched Mrs. Craver’s arm. “You know I love you.”

  “Of course I do,” Mrs. Craver said. She looked at Marvin. “She takes very good care of me. Better than my own children. She moved in with me to take care of me.”

  “So you and Tom weren’t close,” Marvin said to Frankie, “because of Tom’s work habits, or lack thereof, and his time in prison.”

  “That would be a lot of it,” Frankie said. “That and the fact he chased every woman he saw. He was charming, but it was all BS. We were separated at the time of his disappearance. When he got out of prison, he wanted us to get back together. I had heard that before. And he’d mean it when he said it. For about a week, or until I gave him some money. My guess was in no time he’d be back in prison.”