Corey was giving Marlin an opening here, some leverage to negotiate. And Marlin intended to use it, even though he’d have to lie. “Tell you what. If you’ll let me come back in with some medical supplies, to fix Wylie up a little….”
Corey raised his eyes to meet Marlin’s. “Then you’ll do it? You’ll help me out?”
Marlin nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Raccoon meat was a lot tastier than most people gave it credit for; Red knew that firsthand. Most people were just too uppity to try that kind of thing, though. Hell, back when Red was a boy, he’d wander the hills late at night, just him, a spotlight, and his rusty single-shot.22. If he was lucky, he’d come home with a couple of fat coons and his mother would make a big pot of stew the next day. Nowadays, Red liked his raccoon barbecued or chicken-fried.
He wasn’t quite the all-out hunter he used to be, either, preferring instead to let the coons come to him. He and Billy Don had worked out a pretty good system. They had a deer feeder set up in the oak trees about thirty yards behind Red’s mobile home, and the raccoons just couldn’t resist such an easy meal. They’d come ambling along just after dark and eat all the corn they could stuff into their greedy little faces.
So Red and Billy Don would sit on the back porch, an ice chest full of beer between them, Billy Don working the spotlight, Red doing the shooting because he was a much better shot, even if Billy Don wouldn’t admit it. They couldn’t do this more than once or twice a month, because the coons got gun-shy pretty darn quick. Plus, after you shot up the local population, it took awhile for other neighbor coons to come along and fill the gap.
On this particular evening, the hunting was pretty bad. They had seen only one coon, a big, fat bastard, and Red had missed it. They had resigned themselves to the fact that they’d have to eat store-bought food for dinner-Red wanting a frozen pizza, Billy Don arguing for burritos-when the phone rang inside.
Red rose to answer it. “Don’t be shining that light all over creation while I’m gone or you’ll scare ’em all away,” he said, as he opened the screen door. He always forgot that he didn’t need to open the door-the mesh screen had been missing for several months and he could just step right through the frame-but old habits die hard.
Red answered the phone as he always did: “Barney’s Whorehouse, home of the two-for-one special.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then: “Uh, Red O’Brien, please.”
“You got him. Who’s this?”
“Yes, Mr. O’Brien, my name is Harold Cannon. I’m an attorney in Austin.”
“An attorney? Zat the same as a lawyer?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Well, then, whatever she’s sayin’, the kid ain’t mine.”
“Pardon me?”
Red chuckled. Some people just didn’t know a joke when they heard one. “I’m just funnin’ with ya, Harold.”
“Yes, I see. Sorry about that. Anyway, the reason I’m calling concerns Emmett Slaton, who is one of my clients.”
With that, Red’s smile slowly disappeared. It had been a full day now, and Mr. Slaton was still missing. Red had called the Sheriff’s Department earlier that afternoon, but they said there had been no progress on the case. It was the darnedest thing: Ever since last night, Red had had this strange feeling in his gut, something he couldn’t identify and had never experienced before. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might actually be concern for a fellow human being-or maybe gas pains.
“I’ve been trying to reach Mr. Slaton for the last twenty-four hours,” Cannon continued, “regarding some routine matters. But when my calls went unreturned, I got a little worried. See…how can I put this delicately? …Mr. Slaton has a medical condition, and I was afraid he might be having some trouble, all alone at his residence. This afternoon, I called the local police, just to have them stop by and make sure everything was okay. Unfortunately, as you are no doubt aware, they informed me that Mr. Slaton is missing.”
“Yessir, I was the one that discovered the problem. Called it in last night.”
“I see. In any case, in a situation such as this, I’ve been instructed to contact you regarding Mr. Slaton’s brush-removal business.”
Just then, there was a shot outside.
“Uh, everything all right over there? Was that a gunshot?” Cannon asked.
“Just the TV,” Red said. “Go on with what you were sayin’.”
“Well, Mr. Slaton had-or has, rather-confidence in your abilities to run the business. Several months ago, he instructed me, in the event that he is incapacitated, to appoint you as vice president of operations of the company.”
Red’s throat went dry. He reached for a beer on the bar and took a large swig.
“Are you there, Mr. O’Brien?”
“I’m here,” Red croaked.
“I know this is rather sudden, but I do have all the proper papers here in front of me. I can have them couriered out to you tomorrow, if you’d like. That is, if you’re interested in the position.”
Red’s mind was racing so fast, he could barely hear the voice on the other end. Me? Vice president of something? Vice presidents drove Cadillacs and smoked big cigars!
“Mr. O’Brien?”
“Well, hell yeah, I’m interested,” Red managed to blurt. “Now, what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means you’d be responsible for lining up new customers, assigning projects to the work crews…just managing the day-to-day operations of the company in general.”
Red thought that over for a minute. “You mean I wouldn’t be runnin’ a BrushBuster myself?”
Cannon chuckled. “No, not as a vice president. I should also mention that the position includes a fifty-percent salary increase.”
Red’s knees buckled and he had to grab the bar for support.
Fifty percent! That was nearly one and a half times what he was making now! “That sounds fair,” Red said.
“Further, he has instructed me to inform you that, in the event of his demise, he has bequeathed the company to you.”
Now Red slumped to the floor, pulling the phone with him. He was having a hard time catching his breath. Suddenly, that fifty-percent raise seemed like small potatoes. He’d have to look up the word bequeath, but he was pretty sure it meant Mr. Slaton had left the company to Red in his will.
“Are you okay, Mr. O’Brien?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Red panted. “It’s just, with Mr. Slaton missin’ and all…”
“Yes, I understand. It’s a very difficult and sad time for us all.”
Red was thinking fast now, his mind buzzing. This all seemed too easy. Things didn’t just fall into your lap like this.
“Of course, for now, we all just have to wait and see what develops,” Cannon said.
There it was. Red knew there had to be a catch. “You mean, like, they haven’t declared him dead yet-”
“Well, no. Probably not until they find… well, to be direct, not until they find a body. Until they do, this matter could be tied up for months. Maybe even years.”
Red’s spirits dropped for a moment, but he consoled himself with the whopping promotion and raise he had just received.
Cannon said he would make arrangements to have the paperwork delivered to Red’s home, and then wished Red a good night.
Red hung up the phone, still sitting on the floor. Billy Don stepped through the screen-door frame carrying a large raccoon by the tail. “I got one, Red! A big sumbitch!”
Red rose from the floor and took the dead animal out of Billy Don’s hands. “Screw that coon,” Red said, tossing it back out the door. “Tonight we’re doin’ it up right.”
Billy Don’s eye grew large. “You mean…?”
“Hell, yeah,” Red said proudly. “We’re eatin’ at Dairy Queen.”
Marlin was slumped in a chair in front of his television set, exhausted by the events at the sheriff’s office. The adrenaline rush had finally subsided and left a bone-weary void in its place. He had stopped at Blanco County Hospital on the way home to have his bite wound treated, and now he was ready for a quiet night Marlin had the TV tuned to KHIL, a station that covered half a dozen counties in the Hill Country west of Austin. The situation at the sheriff’s office was, of course, the big story, and they had preempted regular programming to carry live coverage.