The Final Country Read Free Page B

bothering me. Maybe you can set me straight.”
    “I feel a little more cooperative now,” I said. “Your deputies pushed me pretty hard.”
    “They’re just kids and they’ve covered a lot of confused and bad calls at Billy Long’s place,” Gannon said, but it didn’t even border on an apology. Then he rubbed his worn face. “Well, sir, I’m a bit concerned about the fact that we couldn’t find the bulk cocaine that Long was cutting. Not even with the dogs. We found the cut stuff. But not the other.”
    “I wouldn’t know anything about that, Captain.”
    “And then you wouldn’t let my boys go through your vehicle without a search warrant…”
    “Which they got very quickly.”
    “Well, things move pretty quickly in a small county down here, and in spite of urban sprawl, this is a very small county,” he said, sighing, “but you know what your refusal says to me?”
    “No.”
    “Well, sir, to me it says ‘ex-con’ or ‘ex-cop.’”
    Gannon knew exactly who I was, but it was easier to play his game. “I was a deputy sheriff a long time ago,” I said, “up in Meriwether County, Montana. And I held a private investigator’s license up there for a long time and I’m duly licensed and bonded in the state of Texas.”
    “Oh shit,” Gannon said, shaking his head in mock surprise. “You’re the guy who owns the bar at the Blue Hollow Lodge? How the hell did you ever get a liquor license with your record? Hell, the Gov did it for you, didn’t he?”
    “Mr. Wallingford and I are partners in the motel,” I said, calmly, “but I own the bar outright.” Travis Lee Wallingford had served half a dozen terms in the state legislature from Gatlin County, both the House and the Senate, both as a Democrat and a Republican, but he was always more interested in inflammatory oratory than detail, and his favorite speech involved an empty threat to run for governor, a position that in the morass of Texas government was usually reserved for a figurehead, rich men or unsuccessful politicians at the end of their careers. So lots of people referred to him as the Gov, and not always in a flattering way. “And in spite of any rumors you may have heard, I don’t have a record of any kind. Down here or anywhere,” I said.
    “Whatever,” Gannon groaned dramatically, “you’ve got too much local clout for me, Mr. Milodragovitch. Just sign your statement and be on your merry way.” Then Gannon paused to rub his face again. “Goddammit,” he said as he jerked his tie open, “sometimes I wonder why the hell I ever took this job…” Then he buried his face in his hands again.
    “You playing on my sympathy, Captain? Good cop and bad cop at the same time?”
    Gannon peeked like a child through his thick fingers, then lifted his smiling face. “Hey, it’s a small department, everybody’s got to cover two or three jobs.”
    “What the hell are you doing down here?”
    “My son-in-law teaches at UT,” he said. “I came down here to be close to the grandkids and…”
    “Where from?”
    “Bayonne, New Jersey,” Gannon said. “What the hell are you doing down here?” he asked as if he really wanted to know.
    Even the dumbest cop had to be an actor occasionally, and I suspected that Gannon was far from dumb. “A woman,” I answered honestly.
    “Ain’t it the shits,” he said. “Truth is my ex-wife moved down here after the divorce. She followed the grandkids down here, and I tagged along like a piece of dogshit stuck to her shoe. Damn woman took off after twenty-six years of marital bliss …”
    “Hell, I’ve been married five times, and all of them don’t add up to half that.”
    “Look,” Gannon said suddenly, taking my revolver and license out of a drawer, then leaned over the desk, clasping his meaty hands together, “can I put it to you straight?”
    “Nobody wants to be fucked without a kiss.” I had never gotten along all that well with cops even when I was one, so I braced myself