The Hemingway Thief by Shaun Harris Page A

room.
    â€œDoesn’t that concern you?” I whispered to Grady, pointing out the leviathan-like pistol that clanked behind Digby like tin cans off the back of a newlywed’s car.
    â€œWhat? The gun?” Grady asked.
    â€œYeah, the gun.”
    â€œThe Digby mystery deepens, doesn’t it,” Grady said. He saw the look on my face and feigned sympathy. “Hey, at least he’s on our side.” He drifted into the room and I followed.
    Digby was already stretched out on the bed like a lounging cat. His legs hung over the footboard, his toes clicking together merrily. He was reading my book again and didn’t bother to look up when Grady and I came inside. Milch sat in the desk chair. Doc must have changed his bandage. It looked crisp and clean against his grimy skin.
    â€œSurprised to see us?” I said.
    â€œNot really,” Milch said. “What’s this shit about no showers ’til tomorrow?”
    â€œWe met a friend of yours,” Grady said. He took another swig of tequila and rested the square bottle in the crook of his arm. “Newton Thandy.”
    â€œHim?” Milch said, scratching at the bruise on his neck. “Does that mean you didn’t get the money?” Grady crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed the section of the seat between Milch’s legs, and heaved the chair backward. Milch’s head struck the wall, but Grady put his boot heel on the seat, keeping the chair tilted on the back legs. Milch waved his arms, trying to keep his balance.
    â€œYou set us up,” Grady said.
    â€œEasy,” I said, and put a hand on his shoulder.
    â€œI am easy, Coop,” he said, but didn’t look at me. I gave up, pushed Digby’s legs out of the way, and sat down on the bed. I hoped Grady was only trying to scare the kid. If not, there wasn’t much I could do to stop him.
    â€œSet up?” Milch sputtered. “What?”
    â€œEbbie, things have gone a bit sideways,” I said. I supposed I was falling into the role of good cop to Grady’s bad cop. That was fine with me. I was too exhausted to play anything else. “Thandy told us you stole the manuscript from him, and, to be honest, we’re leaning toward believing him.”
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” Milch said. “It happened just like I told you.”
    â€œI don’t believe you, dipshit,” Grady said, and shook Milch’s chair with his foot.
    â€œThe problem, Ebbie, is that Thandy wasn’t in a position where he had to lie to us,” I said. “Also, it seems you were trying to split on us even though you were supposed to be so hurt you couldn’t move.”
    â€œWait, I—” Milch said. Digby looked up briefly from his book and marked his place with his thumb. He picked up the distributor cap, which had been next to him, and tossed it to Milch. It landed in his lap, smearing grease on his T-shirt. A murderous look came over Milch as he realized what it was. The look was there for a flash, and it may have only been a trick of the light. Just as quickly, the worried boyishness came back to his face.
    â€œSo you see, we’ve already caught you in one lie,” I said.
    â€œWhat happened with Thandy?” Milch’s voiced cracked. His eyes whipped back and forth from me to Grady.
    â€œHe tried to kill us, you little shit,” Grady said.
    â€œKill you,” Milch said, almost in tears now. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I never thought . . .”
    â€œGot out by the hair on our asses,” Grady growled.
    â€œWhere’s the manuscript?” Milch whimpered.
    â€œReally, Milch?” I said, nodding at Grady. “Is that your biggest concern right now?”
    â€œWhere is it?”
    â€œI have it,” I said. I had left it downstairs in the phone booth.
    â€œAnd Thandy?”
    â€œOn the side of the road tied to a colonel,” Grady said, and he let the chair come