The Hanging of Samuel Ash (26 page)

“Well, he ain't all that nice by my count,” he said. “The son of a bitch waylaid me in the alley.”

“The hell? Why didn't you file charges?”

He flipped the ashes off his cigarette and peeled the dried paint from his fingernail. “Off duty. You know how it is. Town like this won't let a guy have a life of his own.”

“Still, assault and battery isn't something a man ought get by with.”

“This is between us, you being the law and all,” he said. “I did file charges against that bastard. But here comes old man Eagleman all fired up and with a high-priced lawyer, saying as how he'd sue me for all I was worth, and how he'd have me fired for drinking and brawling, and how I'd never work anywhere again.”

“It's hard to take on the big boys,” Hook said.

“Damn right. Said he'd pay for patching up my head, and we'd just let the whole thing go. I could keep my mouth shut, and so would they.”

“So that's what you did?”

“Damn straight.”

“Can't say I blame you, Sheriff.”

“And then that bastard Eagleman refused to pay for the plate they wanted to put in my head. Said he hadn't agreed to cosmetic surgery. Now, I gotta walk around looking like a flat tire.”

“Least you can wear a hat, Sheriff. I got this hook hanging out of my sleeve for everyone to gawk at.”

“You got a point, I guess. Thing is, I never understood why Eagleman got so stirred up in the first place. Buck Steele doesn't hold much for working, 'cept for bossing those kids around, and there's not a day goes by what he doesn't make it to the pool hall. Eagleman could have replaced him with a real hand and for half the trouble. Never understood why he didn't.”

“Well, I'll be letting you get back to work, Sheriff.”

The sheriff picked up his paintbrush. “What you doing with the book?”

Hook turned it over. “Found it laying on the sidewalk. Some kid, probably. You take care, Sheriff.”

“Yeah,” he said, climbing onto the ladder. About halfway up, he turned. “You might try the newspaper,” he said. “They got obits and stuff like that.”

“Good idea,” Hook said.

Hook stopped at the café before going back to the shop, a small place with only a few booths available. He ordered up the calf fries, cole slaw, mashed potatoes and gravy, and hot rolls with butter and honey.

When he'd finished, the waitress tallied up his bill. Unsure about the prosthesis, she smiled and laid the money on the table instead.

*   *   *

Hook took a shower in the park bathroom, cold water and all, and shaved best he could in the broken mirror. Back at the room, he lay in bed and read some from the Carroll book. He'd no sooner turned out the light when a soft knock came at the door.

Slipping on his britches, he said, “Who is it?”

“Celia. I need to see you.”

He opened the door to find her standing there with Mixer at her side.

“No roses?” he said.

“Excuse me.”

“Never mind. Did Mixer kill someone?”

“Not that I know about. May I come in?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, looking for his shirt.

Mixer circled the room to catalog the smells before jumping up on Hook's bed.

“Please, have a chair,” he said to her, taking up his place next to Mixer.

“I'm afraid Mixer can't stay at the orphanage,” she said. “Mr. Eagleman wouldn't permit it. He said that no pets were allowed and that exceptions could not be made.”

“I see.”

“I told him that the arrangement was temporary until Bet adjusted, but I failed to persuade him. I'm afraid he's quite strict about the rules.”

“And how's Bet?”

“Disappointed, as you might guess. I could hear her sobbing after lights-out.”

“Poor thing,” Hook said. “Maybe if I talked to him.”

“I don't think that's a good idea, Hook.”

“I'll come out to see her soon.”

Celia looked away and then turned back, her eyes damp. “I'm sorry, but I'm not very good with this. I promised her, you know, and now I've gone back on my word.”

“It's not your fault, Celia. Bet's a pretty game kid. She'll be okay. I'm sure of it.”

“Yes, you're right, of course. Well,” she said, “I'll be on my way. I've an early start in the morning, paperwork at the courthouse over in Cherokee.”

“Wait,” he said, reaching for the book. “I found this today. Perhaps you could give it to her for me.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said, opening the door. She paused. “I've been thinking about Samuel Ash, about that Bronze Star, about him being buried all alone with his people not even knowing where he is. It's a sad thing,” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“Mr. Eagleman is leaving for the city tomorrow evening for a meeting,” she said. “Something about funds from the state. I guess I'll be in charge of things for a few days.”

“You'll do fine,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I'll do my best.”

 

28

 

H
OOK FOUND SKINK
asleep with his head down on Patch's workbench. Mixer circled the shop before lifting his leg on Skink's foot.

“What the hell,” Skink said, looking around, his eyes bleary. He turned to look at his foot. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“Meet Mixer,” Hook said.

“He peed on my foot, Hook.”

“He's just saying I love you.”

“Maybe I'll just say it back,” Skink said.

“Love begets love in the dog world,” Hook said. “By tonight, every dog in Carmen will have said I love you on that very same foot.”

“Sure not the way to start my day.”

“I've got some dry socks back there. Go change, and I'll fix coffee.”

Hook poured water in the coffeepot and put in an extra helping of coffee grounds. Mixer wagged his tail and went back into the room for a nap.

“I could use a cup,” Skink said, gimping back into the shop.

When the coffee had finished, Hook pulled up to the workbench across from Skink and handed him his cup.

Skink sipped at his coffee. “This tastes better than Patch's,” he said.

“That's 'cause it has coffee in it,” Hook said. “Listen, Skink, you know Patch is going to catch you sleeping on the job again if you keep doing it.”

“It's like trying to hide from a ghost,” Skink said. “He could be listening this very minute for all I know. Anyway, I've been thinking maybe I don't want to be a cobbler.”

“Oh?”

“I'm thinking I might want to be a yard dog instead, carry a gun and shoot people.”

“Being a yard dog requires singular intelligence,” Hook said.

“I got Cs in school.”

“And integrity.”

“All except algebra. I took it over, though.”

“A hundred percent integrity,” Hook said.

“I took it over twice and still flunked it, and once I stole Mildred Bonfield's underwear out of the gym.”

“Railroad bulls have to have lots of courage, too, Skink.”

“Like yourself?”

“That's right. It's like being a full-time hero, and there's no time off and no sleeping on the job. In fact, there's hardly any sleeping at all.”

“Do you shoot people?”

“Now and then, but I'm particular about who I shoot.”

“What about girls?”

“I don't shoot girls.”

“I mean do you get lots of girls?”

“That's the biggest problem. Sometimes I think if one more girl climbs into my bed, I'll just go into the shoe-repair business and forget about it.”

Skink sucked at his coffee and looked off into space. “And you don't have Patch watching all the time, do you?”

“I got Eddie Preston, which comes to the same thing. Speaking of which, does Patch have a phone?”

“Back there in the supply room. He don't ever use it, though. Says he doesn't know anybody worth calling. Says he only has it in case of fire or his heart gives out.”

“I guess you wouldn't mind then if I make a call or two?”

Skink dumped his grounds and picked up his broom. “I don't mind at all, Hook. Make all the calls you want.”

Hook found the phone buried under a stack of calfskin pelts. He wrote Patch's phone number down on his prosthesis and dialed Popeye.

“Clovis,” Popeye said.

“Hook here, Popeye. Has that boy called in yet?”

“Junior Monroe?”

“That one,” Hook said.

“He's in Wellington. Said he spotted an old man and his wife breaking the boxcar seals and stealing cases of macaroni. Said he tried to arrest them, but they got away.”

“When he calls in again, tell him to stop by my caboose in Avard and check on things.”

“What things?”

“Everything things. Jesus, Popeye. He can call me at this number.”

Hook read him the number.

“Got it,” Popeye said.

“And tell him to call the yardmaster, too, and get those cars off that siding. The railroad needs its macaroni.”

“Right,” Popeye said. “About that money, Hook?”

“What money?”

“The two dollars you owe me.”

“I paid you back already.”

“Well, I don't remember it.”

“Jesus, Popeye, I'm going to have to stop borrowing it if you can't remember when I pay it back. You're downright disconcerting.”

“Downright what?”

“Disconcerting.”

“I ain't disconcerting, Hook. Everybody knows that.”

“Eat fish, Popeye. It's good for your brain.”

“This is New Mexico. There ain't a fish within five hundred miles.”

“Try Beam and water. It keeps your brain pressure up and fine-tunes other important body parts.

“Look, I got to run now, Popeye. Remember, this is Hook, Hook Runyon, your old friend.”

“It's the one thing I can't forget,” Popeye said, hanging up.

Hook dialed Eddie Preston. “Division,” Eddie said.

“Hook here, Eddie.”

“Did you get those car seals checked out in Wellington?”

“Goddang boes, I figure. I'm having the cars moved into the yard.”

“Did Junior Monroe get in on it?”

“More or less. Kid has a lot to learn, though.”

“I need you back in Clovis, Runyon. These wildcat strikes are popping up everywhere.”

“Right, Eddie. Soon as I get these seal busters rounded up and the bushings replaced on this worn-out caboose. I'm waiting on Frenchy to tow her in. I don't want to leave her sitting out for somebody to break into.”

“And what about that wigwag hanging?”

“Guess you were right on that one, Eddie. I haven't found a thing.”

“Baldwin Felts training,” Eddie said. “That's why I'm supervisor, and you're chasing seal busters.”

“Good information, Eddie. I've been wondering a long time why you were supervisor.”

*   *   *

Hook, leaving Mixer asleep under the bed, hoofed his way through town. As soon as he made the corner, the orphanage, with its turrets and flights of stairs, loomed up at the end of the road like an English castle. He stopped and listened to the stir of leaves in the elms before heading on down the road. Climbing the steps of the orphanage, he knocked on the door.

“Oh, it's you again,” the cook said, drying her hands on her apron. “Miss Feola isn't here, and Mr. Eagleman told me appointments only.”

“I'd like to speak with Bet Haimes,” he said.

“Bet who?” she asked.

“The new girl.”

“She's not here.”

“Where is she?”

“She wouldn't eat her shepherd pie last night. You'll find her walking the circle, I expect.”

“Who put her to walking the circle?”

“That would be Mr. Eagleman. He does all the discipline here at Agape.”

Hook made his way to the bottom of the steps and turned. “Did Mr. Eagleman eat
his
shepherd pie?”

“Mr. Eagleman don't eat with the children. I take his plate up.”

“And what was it?”

The cook folded her big arms over her bosom. “Steak, rare, with baked potato.”

*   *   *

Hook found Bet walking the cemetery circle just as the cook said. As she came around the far corner, he gave her a wave. She paused, uncertain as to whom he might be, and then came toward him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes red, and dust covered her white socks.

“I got to keep walking,” she said. “Or I'll have to do it all over again.”

Hook took her by the arm. “It's alright, Bet. Now what's going on?”

“How's Mixer?” she asked.

“Mixer's fine. You'll see him soon.”

“I couldn't eat it,” she said. “It had cold mashed potatoes, and the meat swelled up in my mouth. Mr. Eagleman said if I didn't eat it, I'd have to walk the circle. He said I wasn't at home anymore, and I'd eat what everybody else ate. I better walk now.”

“Come on, Bet. We're going back, and I'm having a talk with Mr. Eagleman.”

*   *   *

Hook found the cook sweeping up the entry. “I'm going to talk to Eagleman,” he said. “Fix this girl something to eat, and it damn well better not be shepherd pie.”

“You can't go up there without an appointment,” she said.

Hook walked to the bottom of the staircase and shouted up to Eagleman. “This is Hook Runyon, and I'm making an appointment. I'll be up there in about one minute.” He turned back to the cook. “Anything else?”

“No, sir,” she said. “I'll fix something.”

By the time Hook made the upstairs hallway, Eagleman had opened the door to his office. He stuck his head out.

“What the hell is going on?”

Hook pushed past him. Eagleman followed him in. “What do you think you're doing?” he asked, his face red.