Joe Lansdale - Cold in July

I put the wallet in the glove box of my car and got out.

Inside the station I told the dispatcher that I had come to see Price.

“He’s home, sir,” she said. “I can take a message.”

“I think you better call him at home,” I said. Then I told her who I was and what had happened and that something very important had come up. I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone about it but Price, and it was something he would want to know.

“Very well,” she said, and she called him, frowning at me all the while she was doing it. I found a chair and sat down and a few moments later she leaned her head out of the dispatcher’s office and called to me. “He’ll be here in a few minutes. He said for you to go to the assembly room and have a cup of coffee if you like.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“Certainly,” she said, but she didn’t look like she meant it.

I went back through the door that led down the hallway to the assembly room and found the coffee machine. I didn’t really want the coffee, but it was something to do. I thought about backing out more than once, but that didn’t happen. I just sat there with my paper coffee cup warming my hands, staring off into space.

Two cops came in laughing and looked at me in that suspicious way they look at everyone. They got coffee and sat down at the far end of the table and talked quietly and looked at me and finally got up and went out, taking their coffee with them.

I was about finished with my coffee when Price showed up. As usual, he looked perfect. He looked as if he had already had a good night’s rest. His face was unlined and his black hair was combed neatly. His suit was tan and very fashionable. He had on a light blue shirt and a thin blue and tan tie and the shoes still had that blinding shoe shine.

“Problem?” he said.

“Sort of. I want you to let Russel go.”

He stared at me a moment, then went over to the coffee machine and got a cup and came to sit down near me. “Why?” he said.

“He didn’t really hurt anyone. He couldn’t kill my son, he just thought he could.”

He gave me the kind of smile nut ward attendants reserve for their patients who think they can fly. “He hurt an officer of mine. He hurt you. That wasn’t exactly a tumbling act you folks were doing in there before we came in.”

“No. He was trying to hurt me, all right, but he was out of his head. He wouldn’t do it again. He’s spent. He’s had his shot and he couldn’t do it and he didn’t want to do it.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want to press charges?”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Mr. Dane. You don’t have to press charges. We caught him in the act. He hurt one of my men. We don’t need for you to press charges.”

“I think you do.”

“It would make it easier if you did, but we don’t need you.”

“The officer was hurt because he was in my house at your request.”

“And at your agreement.”

“Yes, but I was wrong about that.”

“Come on, what’s with you, Dane? Just a few hours ago you were wrestling this nut around your house, and just before that you were giving me hell for not going after him before he even tried anything.”

“I know.”

“Then what gives?”

I thought about the photographs in the glove box of my car, but I didn’t say anything. Not yet. Something was going on here, and I was sure Price knew what it was. Or at least the department knew. And I wasn’t ready to play my hole cards. I had to put Price to the test.

“I’ll bring a lawyer in on this if I have to. I don’t want to press charges. I want to forgive and forget, and I have a feeling Russel does too.”

“Forgive and forget,” Price said. “That’s cute.”

“It’s what I want.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Price said. “One moment you’re a fucking Nazi right-winger wanting me to get this bastard off your ass, and now you’re a bleeding-heart liberal leaking blood all over the goddamn floor. You’re schizo. You don’t know what you’re asking. This man is dangerous. He tried to kill your son because you had to kill his. He tried to kill you and your wife and he injured one of my men. If I were you, I wouldn’t take that lightly. I’d leave the turn-the-other-cheek stuff to the Sunday school lessons and the five year olds. We’re living in the real world here, Dane, and Jesus wouldn’t last five fucking minutes in it. No one would bother to crucify his passive ass. Takes too long. They’d run him over with a car or cut his guts out with a rusty can opener.”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“You need something, Dane. Hell, man, you can’t be serious. Think about what you’re asking.”

“I’ve been thinking about it. I want Russel let go. I don’t want to press charges, and if I don’t get what I want, I’m going to bring a lawyer in on this. I promise you that. I want him out now, where I can see him set free, and I want charges dropped. I just want to get on with my life and let him get on with his.”

“You really think I can do that?”

“I think you better.”

He sat and looked at me and tore his empty coffee cup apart and then tore it into smaller pieces. Finished, he put both hands on the table and kept his eyes on me.

“Don’t try and scare me, Price, it just makes me tired.”

“I pity you.”

“You said that. Now either let Russel out, or I call my lawyer and you folks start having problems.”

It was my turn to stare this time, and I gave it all I had. After a moment he stood up, raked the destroyed paper cup into one hand, went over to the trash can and deposited it.

“You’re making a big mistake, Dane. But it’s your life. And your family’s. I may not be there to pull your ass out of the fire next time.”

“As I recall, Ann and I did the pulling. Your man was on the floor.”

He gave me a look that made his handsome face ugly.

“You got it, buddy. I’ll let him out. Just remember when he comes after you, I told you so.”

“I’ll wait out in the parking lot just to make sure he’s set free.”

“You dumb bastard,” Price said, and left the room.

He had failed the test. It had been too easy. There was more to this than met the eye. And Price was in on it.

I was in the lot leaning on the hood of my car with Russel’s wallet in my pocket when he came out escorted by Price and a uniformed policeman. The three of them stood there looking at me and then Price gave Russel a slight nudge with his hand and Russel walked over toward me. Price and the uniform stayed where they were.

When Russel got to me he said, “They’re waiting to see if I try and kill you.”

“Are you going to try?”

“No.”

I waved Price and the uniform cop away.

“Leave the lot,” Price yelled back. “Get killed somewhere else.”

Russel turned and smiled at them. “You don’t have faith in me, Lieutenant.”

“You’re both sick,” Price said and went inside. The uniform stayed where he was.

“Get in,” I said. “We have to talk.”

Russel got in and I cranked the car and drove out of the lot and coasted slowly down California Street. “What do you think?” I said.

“I agree with Price. You’re loony. I tried to kill you a little while ago. You know I was really trying.”

“You didn’t kill my son. You had the chance.”

“I couldn’t have… Hell, I don’t know if I could have killed you.”

“You banged me around good enough.”

“I thought I wanted to kill somebody. I hate your guts, you know?”

“Because I killed your son?”

Russel made a noise somewhere between a hummph and a cough.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said.