Yellow Dog Contract by Ross Thomas Page B

anything to you?”
    I thought about Max lying on the cheap green rug with his throat cut. “I hope not,” I said.

CHAPTER NINE
    I USED THE PHONE in Audrey’s kitchen to make the calls. First I called Senator William Corsing’s office. The Senator was in a meeting but had left word that he would very much like to see me at ten o’clock, if that were convenient. If ten wouldn’t do, perhaps I could make it eleven.
    The young woman whom I talked to had a voice that sounded the way divinity fudge tastes and when I told her that I could make it at ten her grateful, slightly breathless reply made me feel that maybe with my help the republic could be saved after all.
    I called Ward Murfin next and when he came on he didn’t say hello, he said, “Max didn’t leave any insurance.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said.
    Murfin sighed. “Me and Marjorie were up with her most of the night. She kept saying she was gonna kill herself. You know how Dorothy is.”
    I indeed knew how Dorothy Quane was. Dorothy and I had once had a very brief, incredibly gloomy time twelve years before that in retrospect seemed like one long, wet, dismal Sunday afternoon. I had introduced her to Max Quane and he had won her away from me. I had been grateful to Max ever since. Max had never said whether he was grateful to me for introducing him to Dorothy and I had never asked.
    â€œWell,” I said, “what can I do?”
    â€œYou can be a pallbearer,” Murfin said. “I can’t find any fuckin’ pallbearers. The guy’s thirty-seven years old and I can’t find six guys who’ll be his pallbearers.”
    â€œI don’t go to funerals,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t go to funerals.” Murfin sounded as if I had told him that I didn’t go to bed nights, but hung from the rafters instead.
    â€œI don’t go to funerals, wakes, weddings, christenings, church bazaars, political rallies, or office Christmas parties. I’m sorry Max is dead because I liked him. I’ll even go by and see Dorothy this afternoon and ask if she and her kids would like to come out and stay at the farm for a while. But I won’t be a pallbearer.”
    â€œLast night,” Murfin said. “They had Max on the six o’clock news last night. Well, Marjorie and me get over there about six-thirty, maybe seven, and Dorothy’s already flipped. So hell, you know, we figure we’ll stay maybe a couple of hours or so, maybe even three or four, and then we figure the neighbors or somebody else’ll come by and take over. Nobody.”
    â€œNobody at all?”
    â€œJust the cops. Nobody came. Nobody even called except some reporters. That’s kinda hard to believe, isn’t it?
    â€œKind of,” I said. “Max knew a lot of people.”
    â€œYou know something?” Murfin said, “I don’t think Max had any friends except me. And maybe you, although I’m not too sure about you since you don’t wanta be a pallbearer.”
    I told him again that I’d stop by and see Dorothy that afternoon. Then I asked, “What did Vullo say?”
    â€œWell, he seemed to think that Max went and got himself killed on purpose, you know what I mean? He said he was sorry and all that, but he kinda hurried over it. What he was really interested in was how we were gonna replace Max. I told him I’d work on it and then he wanted to know if I’d heard from you on account of maybe you’d have some ideas.”
    â€œI don’t have any,” I said.
    â€œYou tell him that,” Murfin said. “He wants to see you today.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThis afternoon.”
    â€œWhat time?”
    â€œTwo-thirty?”
    I thought about it. “I’ll come by at two and maybe you and I can figure out what to do about Dorothy.”
    â€œMaybe we can figure out how you’re gonna tell her who Max was shacked up