help in strategy or just be a legal mechanic. I can
deal with it either way; I just have to know.
“Kevin told me about him,” Hike says.
“Marcus?”
He nods. “Kevin says he got used to him. That after a while he wasn’t so scared to be in the same room with him.”
“I agree,” I say. “I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. My teeth don’t even chatter anymore. You just have to remember
that he’s on our side.”
Hike nods. “That’s a good thing.”
“And the other thing is, if he bothers you, just smack him around a little, and he backs off.”
Hike doesn’t say anything, possibly pondering this concept.
“That’s a joke,” I say, just in case.
He nods. “I picked up on that.”
While we’re waiting, I call Pete Stanton. “I’m taking your friend’s case,” I say.
“More than just the dog?”
“More than just the dog. I’m defending Billy on the murder charge.”
“That doesn’t count as a favor,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“It counts,” I say.
“It does not.”
“Do you want to start buying your own beer, effective immediately?”
“Okay,” he says. “It counts.”
“Glad we cleared that up. Now here’s a chance for you to return the favor.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“It’s no big deal,” I say. “I just want you to trace a license plate.”
“I’m supposed to use city resources, provided by the taxpayers, to do your work?”
“You want to get your friend out of prison?”
“Give me the plate number.”
I do so, and Pete tells me he’ll have the information within twenty-four hours. “Is that it, I hope?” he asks.
“Almost. Billy says the shooter was six foot five, maybe taller. That ring any bells for you?”
“Maybe we should arrest the Knicks,” he says.
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know?”
“Of course I know. But once I get you the plate number, we’re even,” he says.
“We are not even. We’re not close to even. I am putting in months of my life on this, and you’re tracing a license plate.
That is not in the same ballpark as even.”
“Okay,” he says. “But you’re still buying the beer.”
J EREMY I VERSON HAD NO IDEA THAT ONE OF HIS PARTNERS WAS DEAD. He and Donovan Chambers had dropped out of touch and gone their separate ways after returning home from the war. Chambers
had never told him he was going to live in the Caribbean, and the truth was that Jeremy wouldn’t have cared anyway. They had
done a job together; it wasn’t like they were best friends.
Jeremy was aware that Erskine was dead; he had seen that on television, when they were talking about that dog. The news didn’t
come as a surprise to him. Pretty much everybody he knew hated Erskine, so it made sense that eventually somebody would take
a shot at him. Jeremy just hoped it had nothing to do with the Iraq operation. If it did, it could have ominous consequences
for himself, although he was well hidden from the world.
Jeremy basically hadn’t touched the money, other than to provide for some basics like a place to live, some decent civilian
clothes, and three hunting rifles. He realized that he was in a state of emotional limbo, unable to decide in which direction
he should go. He instinctively knew that whatever first steps he took, they would influence his life forever.
The only real decision Jeremy had made since returning was to make a clean break with his past. It wasn’t a great sacrifice;
all that was left back home in Missoula was an alcoholic mother and an ex-wife whom he learned had filed for divorce while
he was in Iraq. Mail call wasn’t much fun that day.
Jeremy had rented a cabin about thirty miles from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He drove through the town on the way out there, and
was struck by how the rich people had taken over the place. He found it pretty funny to realize that he could afford to live
there if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to.
Except
deal with it either way; I just have to know.
“Kevin told me about him,” Hike says.
“Marcus?”
He nods. “Kevin says he got used to him. That after a while he wasn’t so scared to be in the same room with him.”
“I agree,” I say. “I’m not nearly as afraid as I used to be. My teeth don’t even chatter anymore. You just have to remember
that he’s on our side.”
Hike nods. “That’s a good thing.”
“And the other thing is, if he bothers you, just smack him around a little, and he backs off.”
Hike doesn’t say anything, possibly pondering this concept.
“That’s a joke,” I say, just in case.
He nods. “I picked up on that.”
While we’re waiting, I call Pete Stanton. “I’m taking your friend’s case,” I say.
“More than just the dog?”
“More than just the dog. I’m defending Billy on the murder charge.”
“That doesn’t count as a favor,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“It counts,” I say.
“It does not.”
“Do you want to start buying your own beer, effective immediately?”
“Okay,” he says. “It counts.”
“Glad we cleared that up. Now here’s a chance for you to return the favor.”
“I don’t like where this is going.”
“It’s no big deal,” I say. “I just want you to trace a license plate.”
“I’m supposed to use city resources, provided by the taxpayers, to do your work?”
“You want to get your friend out of prison?”
“Give me the plate number.”
I do so, and Pete tells me he’ll have the information within twenty-four hours. “Is that it, I hope?” he asks.
“Almost. Billy says the shooter was six foot five, maybe taller. That ring any bells for you?”
“Maybe we should arrest the Knicks,” he says.
“You’re a pain in the ass, you know?”
“Of course I know. But once I get you the plate number, we’re even,” he says.
“We are not even. We’re not close to even. I am putting in months of my life on this, and you’re tracing a license plate.
That is not in the same ballpark as even.”
“Okay,” he says. “But you’re still buying the beer.”
J EREMY I VERSON HAD NO IDEA THAT ONE OF HIS PARTNERS WAS DEAD. He and Donovan Chambers had dropped out of touch and gone their separate ways after returning home from the war. Chambers
had never told him he was going to live in the Caribbean, and the truth was that Jeremy wouldn’t have cared anyway. They had
done a job together; it wasn’t like they were best friends.
Jeremy was aware that Erskine was dead; he had seen that on television, when they were talking about that dog. The news didn’t
come as a surprise to him. Pretty much everybody he knew hated Erskine, so it made sense that eventually somebody would take
a shot at him. Jeremy just hoped it had nothing to do with the Iraq operation. If it did, it could have ominous consequences
for himself, although he was well hidden from the world.
Jeremy basically hadn’t touched the money, other than to provide for some basics like a place to live, some decent civilian
clothes, and three hunting rifles. He realized that he was in a state of emotional limbo, unable to decide in which direction
he should go. He instinctively knew that whatever first steps he took, they would influence his life forever.
The only real decision Jeremy had made since returning was to make a clean break with his past. It wasn’t a great sacrifice;
all that was left back home in Missoula was an alcoholic mother and an ex-wife whom he learned had filed for divorce while
he was in Iraq. Mail call wasn’t much fun that day.
Jeremy had rented a cabin about thirty miles from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. He drove through the town on the way out there, and
was struck by how the rich people had taken over the place. He found it pretty funny to realize that he could afford to live
there if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to.
Except
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