Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 12 - Murder Among Friends Read Free Page A

his junior year, changing his major to criminal
justice.
    He was one of those free-thinking rebels who preferred
remaining just within the bounds of convention for the sake
of comfort, the comfort of a steady paycheck. From time to
time, depending upon how a proposition struck him, he pushed the envelope, even on occasion kicking a hole in it.
For the most part, however, he played it straight. Like most
uniforms, he wanted his pension.

    “I’ll be right down”
    “Won’t do no good, Tony. You know that. He can’t go
before the judge until morning.”
    I grimaced. He was right. I should have thought of that,
but the telephone call had caught me by surprise, and on top
of everything else that was going wrong, the news about my
old man was just about one straw away from snapping the
back of that proverbial camel. “Thanks, Bob Ray”
    I hung up and my eyes shifted to the refrigerator where a
chilled bottle of Janice’s Merlot lay on the top rack. I
chuckled. It had been several months since I’d had the desire for a drink.
    Two or three times during the night, I hopped out of bed
and hurried to the front door, swearing I heard A.B. clawing to get in. Each time I was disappointed.
    The last thing I got that night was a sound sleep. With
questions about Debbie’s father, my missing cat, Janice’s obsession with marriage, and my old man suspected of murder,
what little sleep I managed came in snips and snatches.
    Before I left home the next morning, I quickly placed all
my valuables in the garage with my Model T and locked
the door securely against the likelihood that I would be
bringing my old man back. The only alcohol in the refrigerator was Janice’s Merlot. That was okay. I’d pick up a
couple of cases of beer today for my old man.
    I popped into the office a few minutes later, informing
Marty I would not be at his meeting with Debbie Reeves and
her mother. I was in no mood for his clumsy efforts to shame me into attending the meeting for my sake and the company’s
sake. “No way, Marty,” I said, my eyes blazing fire. “I got my
old man to worry about. He isn’t much, but he is blood kin.” I
stared into his flat black eyes. “If you don’t like it, then fire
my tail” I spun on my heel and stormed to the door.

    Behind me, Marty stuttered and stammered. “Hey. Tony!
I didn’t mean it like that. Go right ahead. I’ll fill you in
when you get back” Good old Marty. He was as flexible
and adaptable as duct tape.
    Half a dozen denizens of the street slouched on the
bench in front of Judge Simon. I knew the judge, and he
was a fair man-a hard one, but fair.
    I studied the backs of the defendants, unable to pick out
my old man. After all, I told myself, it had been several
months, almost a year, since I last saw him. I paused and
chuckled wryly to myself. The last time I saw him was when
he robbed me blind and pawned the goods for booze.
    Bob Ray Burros stood at my side. He pointed to the second set of slumped shoulders. “That’s him”
    “Thanks,” I muttered, moving to the side for a better
look at his angular face.
    We got lucky. I don’t know if it was because the Austin
PD didn’t want to have to put up with John Roney for several months until a trial, or because the judge knew me and
realized I would have my old man to trial when and if it
came up, or because the evidence against him was pretty
flimsy, but I got my old man out on a two-thousand-dollar
bond.
    I never liked riding with my old man. He never bathed,
and even with the windows down, the stench was enough to gag a dog on a gut wagon. And that thirty minutes back to
my place was no different.

    But during that drive, I told my old man in no uncertain
terms that if he left my apartment, I would be the first to
turn in his sorry tail to the police. And if I did, he might as
well never expect any help from me again.
    The frail man looked around at me. “That ain’t a kindly
thing to do to