Billy Bob and Hackberry Holland Ebook Boxed Set by James Lee Burke Page A

eyes and a raw odor in his clothes. His coat was open, and I could see the small leather clip-on holster he wore on his belt. I walked past him and opened the door. “I can respect your problems, Darrel. But you beat up Johnny American Horse with a sap and we both know why you did it,” I said. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”
    His scalp glistened inside his crew cut. “I’ve seen Lundstrum before. I don’t know where,” he said, his brow knitting.
    Then I realized he was somewhere out on the frayed edges of his life. “I’ve got appointments all morning. How about we have a talk after lunch?” I said.
    â€œThat’s out. I shouldn’t have come here. Tell your wife, no matter what you people think, I got a good record as a police officer and I don’t need a P.I. dragging my name in the dirt,” he said.
    Who “you people” referred to was anybody’s guess.
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    BUT DARREL MCCOMB’S quest for personal vindication was not over. That afternoon he went to the home of Amber Finley. She was working in the garden, barefoot, wearing only a halter and shorts. There were sun freckles on her back, and when she sat up from her work to talk to him, her stomach creased above her exposed navel, causing him to fix his eyes intently on her face so as not to reveal the weakness he felt in his loins.
    â€œI just wanted to clear up why I was watching your house. This lady Ms. Lundstrum has gotten hold of a crazy idea and I thought maybe you had some false notions, too,” he said.
    â€œI know exactly why you were watching us,” she replied.
    He looked away in desperation, then knelt down so he could talk to her at eye level.
    â€œYou’re making me uncomfortable,” she said.
    â€œListen, the evidence against Johnny bothers me. The tennis shoes that matched the prints at the crime scene were under a bunch of other shoes and boots. But if Johnny had just worn them, why would they be under other shoes, unless someone wanted to disguise the fact they were placed there to be discovered? The Jiffy Lube receipt on the floor of the hospital room doesn’t flush, either. The killer was wearing hospital greens. So where was he carrying the receipt—in his underwear?”
    â€œThe prosecution will say he had jeans on under his greens. Why are you doing this?” she said.
    â€œI want to let all that bad blood go. I’m sorry for what I did to Johnny.”
    â€œSo tell it to Johnny and Billy Bob.”
    He got up and tried to brush the grass stain off the knee of his slacks. “If I acted disrespectfully to you, I apologize. I don’t mean to be a bad guy, but sometimes—” He didn’t finish.
    No, you’re just a geek, she thought, then felt oddly uncharitable as she watched him try to tuck his shirt in with his thumb and disguise his pot stomach.
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    THE NEXT MORNING I drove up to Johnny American Horse’s small spread on the res. Amber’s Dakota was parked in the yard and she was sweeping a cloud of dust off the front porch. Johnny had just finished shoeing a sorrel mare inside the barn, a leather apron that was almost yellow with wear tied around his waist. He slapped the mare on the rump and watched her trot into the pasture, where she joined a sorrel stud. I leaned on the railed fence Johnny had made from shaved lodgepole.
    â€œEver see a pair with that much red in them?” he said.
    â€œNot really,” I said.
    â€œGonna breed a whole herd of them.”
    I looked at him to see if he was serious. “Sounds like a lifetime job,” I said.
    He grinned and took off his apron and hung it over the fence. “You eat breakfast yet?” he said.
    â€œA sixteen-year-old boy from the res was killed a while back by a white man whose truck he broke into,” I said, ignoring his invitation.
    Johnny nodded, his eyes on the two sorrels in the pasture.
    â€œThat kid was your