excerpt
Pearson started walking, looking at the asphalt, shaking his
head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about this,” he said. “It
was twenty years ago. No good can come of it now.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mr. Pearson,” Pease said.
Pearson leaned back against the side of a car and folded his arms.
“Besides,” Pease said, “one way or another, it’s going to come out.
It’s better all the way around if this story I’m working on is accurate.”
“Supposing there is a story, how’s it going to come out if no one
will talk about it?” Pearson said.
“Someone has talked about it.”
“Who?”
“Someone who was there.”
“Let’s stop playing around,” Pearson said. “Where? What,
exactly, are you talking about?”
“I thought a minute ago you were headed there,” Pease said.
“You told me Pete Torgerson fussed about Poodie James. Then
what happened?”
“Happened. What do you mean?”
“Now it’s my turn, Mr. Pearson. Let’s stop playing around.
What happened the night Poodie James had the tar beaten out of
him?”
Pearson paced along the edge of the lot. He stopped, looked at
Pease, then headed toward his building. When he got there, he
stopped, looked back for a second, and disappeared inside. Pease
jammed his hands into his pockets and stood looking at the door.
Damn it, he thought, I pushed him too fast.
The next afternoon, Pease got a call from Pearson. “I had to
think,” the auto dealer said, his voice a rasp. “I’ll meet you on the
lot in ten minutes.”
“Okay,” Pearson said when Pease joined him next to the sky
blue Continental. “We had a few beers, and Pete said we ought to
go down to the Thorp place and hassle this little crazy man.”
Libros Libertad 