Dark Horse (A Jim Knighthorse Novel) Read Free Page A

rippled
across his expressive face, brief glimpses into his psyche:
disbelief, rage, frustration. But most of all I saw sorrow. Deep
sorrow.
    “Because... ” He stopped, swallowed, looked
away. “Because we were going to get married.”
    “Married?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Seventeen.”
    “How old was she?”
    “The same.”
    “Anyone know about the marriage?” I
asked.
    He laughed hollowly. “Hell, no. Her dad hates
me, and I’m sure he doesn’t think much of me now.”
    “I wouldn’t imagine he does,” I said. “You
have any theories who might have killed her?”
    He hesitated. “No.”
    “Was she seeing anyone else?”
    “No.”
    “You were exclusive?”
    “Yes.”
    “How do you know?”
    “She loved me.”
    “Did you love her?” I asked.
    He didn’t answer immediately. The silence
that followed was palpable. The ticking of the clock behind us
accentuated the silence and gave it depth and profundity. I
listened to him breathe through his mouth. The corners of his mouth
were flecked with dried spittle.
    “Yeah, I loved her,” he said finally. He
swiped his sleeve across his face, using a shrugging motion to
compensate for his cuffed wrists. The sleeve was streaked with
tears.
    “That will be enough, Mr. Knighthorse,” said
Cho. “Thank you, Derrick.”
    She got up and went to the door. She knocked
on the window and the two wardens entered and led the shuffling
Derrick out of the room. He didn’t look back. I got up and stood by
the door with Cho.
    “What do you think?” she asked.
    “I think you’re secretly in love with me,” I
said.
    “I think you’re secretly in love with
yourself.”
    “It’s no secret,” I said.
    We left the conference room and moved down
the purposefully bare-walled hallway. Perhaps colorful paintings
would have given the accused false hope.
    “The kid didn’t do her,” I said. “No one’s
that good an actor.”
    She nodded. “We know. He’s going to need your
help.”
    “He’s going to need a lot of help,” I
said.
    “Let me guess: and you’re the man to do
it?”
    “Took the words right out of my mouth.”
     
     
     
    5.
     
     
    On Beach Blvd., not too far from my
crime-fighting headquarters, there is a McDonald’s fast food
restaurant. McDonald’s is a fairly well-known establishment here in
Huntington Beach, California, although I can’t vouch for the rest
of the country since I don’t get out much. This McDonald’s features
an epic two- or three-story plastic playground, an ATM and DVD
rentals.
    Oh, and it also features God.
    Yes, God. The Creator. The Lord Of All That
Which Is And Is Not. The God of the Earth below and the sky above.
The God of the Moon and the stars and Cher.
    No, I’m not high. At least, not at the
moment.
    Oh, and he doesn’t like me calling him God.
He prefers Jack. Yes, Jack.
    Again, I’m not high.
    Let me explain: Not too long ago, while
enjoying a Big Mac or three at this very McDonald’s, a homeless man
dressed in rags and smelling of an overripe dumpster sat across
from me. He introduced himself as God, and later, by my third Big
Mac, I almost believed him.
    God or not, he offered some pretty damn good
advice that day, and I have been coming back ever since.
    Today, by my second Big Mac and third re-fill
of Coke, he showed up, ambling up to the restaurant from somewhere
on Beach Blvd. Where he came from, I don’t know. Where he goes, I
still didn’t know. Maybe Heaven. Maybe a dumpster. Maybe both.
    As he cut across the parking lot, heading to
the side entrance, I noted that his dirty jeans appeared
particularly torn on this day. Perhaps he had had a fight with the
Devil earlier.
    Jack went through the door, walked up to the
cashier, ordered a coffee.
    “Hi, Jim,” he said, after he had gotten his
coffee. He carefully lifted the lid with very dirty fingers and
blew on the steaming coffee.
    “God doesn’t like his coffee too hot?” I
asked. I had been curious about this, as he