"You probably know what I mean, Sheriff. Even a man in your job has to chose his eyes to some very bad things."
"You're right about that," I said. "I have to close 'em if I want to stay on bein' sheriff."
"And do you want to? You've never thought of taking up another line of work?"
"Not for very long," I said. "What else would a fella like me do anyways?"
"Exactly!" His eyes lit up and they began to look a lot bigger. "What else can you do? What else can I do? But, Nick-excuse me for being familiar-my name's George, Sheriff."
"Glad to know you, George," I nodded, "an' you go right on calling me Nick."
"Thank you, Nick"-he took another drink of whiskey. "Now, here's what I was going to ask, Nick and it's something I've worried about a great deal. Does the fact that we can't do anything else-does that excuse us?"
"Well," I said, "do you excuse a post for fittin' a hole? Maybe there's a nest of rabbits down in that hole, and the post will crush 'em. But is that the post's fault, for fillin' a gap it was made to fit?"
"But that's not a fair analogy, Nick. You're talking about inanimate objects."
"Yeah?" I said. "So ain't we all relatively inanimate, George? Just how much free will does any of us exercise? We got controls all along the line, our physical make-up, our mental make-up, our backgrounds; they're all shapin' us a certain way, fixin' us up for a certain role in life, and George, we better play that role or fill that hole or any goddang way you want to put it or all hell is going to tumble out of the heavens and fall right down on top of us. We better do what we were made to do, or we'll find it being done to us."
"You mean it's a case of kill or be killed?" Barnes shook his head. "I hate to think that, Nick."
"Maybe that's not what! mean,"! said. "Maybe I'm not sure what I mean. I guess mostly what I mean is that there can't be no personal hell because there ain't no personal sins. They're all public, George, we all share in the other fellas' and the other fellas all share in ours. Or maybe I mean this, George, that I'm the savior himself, Christ on the Cross come right here to Potts County, because God knows I was needed here, an' I'm goin' around doing kindly deeds-so that people will know they got nothing to fear, and if they're worried about hell they don't have to dig for it. And, by God, that makes sense, don't it, George? I mean obligation ain't all on the side of the fella that accepts it, nor responsibility neither. I mean, well, which is worse, George, the fella that craps on a doorknob or the one that rings the doorbell?"
George threw back his head and roared with laughter. "That's priceless, Nick! Priceless!"
"Well, it ain't exactly original," I said. "Like the poem says, you can't fault a jug for bein' twisted because the hand of the potter shipped. So you tell me which is worse, the one that messes up the doorknob or the one that rings the bell, and I'll tell you which got twisted and who done the twisting."
"But-but suppose the same person does both?"
"It ain't likely," I said. "As a fella that's had to deal with plenty of high jinks, and god-dang if I don't feel I'm living in a joker's paradise sometimes. I can say that these little chores is usually divided up. But if that wasn't the case, George, then we've opened up another field of obligation and responsibility. Because this fella had to eat before he could crap, didn't he, and where did the food come from?"
We went on talking and drinking until Myra came home.
She fixed dinner for George and me, she an' Lennie having already eaten at Rose's place. George was real courtly to Myra. God-dang if she didn't look almost pretty the way he shined up to her, and god-dang if he didn't look almost handsome because he done it.
Then we finished eating and I walked George toward the railroad station, and things weren't so nice any more. We were friendly, but it was just one of those have-to-be things. There wasn't no real warmth or hiking in it.
I reckon that's the bad part of whiskey, you know?-the bad part about a hot of things. Not the indulging of 'em, but the not being able to indulge. The afterwards, when the oh' familiar taste of piss is back in your mouth, and you want to spit it out at everyone. And you think, god-dang, why for did I want to be nice to that fella? And I bet he thought I was a god.danged fool.
George was looking kind of glum and let-down; kind of frowny and thoughtful. Then, Amy Mason crossed to our side of the street, and I introduced her, and George perked himself up again.
"You have a fine sheriff, here," he said, chapping me on the back. "A very fine officer, Miss Mason. He's helped me solve a very important case."
"Indeed?" said Amy. "What kind of case, Mr. Barnes?"
And George told her, adding on that he just wouldn't have had a case against Ken if it hadn't been for me.
"I'm sure it wasn't an easy thing for him to do, either," he said. "It's never easy for one officer to incriminate another, even if they are not friends."
"How true!" Amy said. "And I'm sure it will become even less easy as time goes on. By the way, Sheriff, will you stop by my house this evening? I think I've seen a prowler around."
I said I'd be tickled to death to stop by, and she mustn't feel like she had to set out no coffee or cake or nothing because I wouldn't want her troubled.
She said she wouldn't be troubled at all, sort of tossing her head at me. Then, she went on, and George Barnes and I went on toward the station.
Way up river, the train was whistling for the crossing. George shook my hand and gave me a bee's ass smile, and thanked me again for my help.
"By the way, Nick. It's just a matter of form, of course, but you'll be receiving a subpoena within the next day or so."
"A subpoena?" I said. "Why for will I be receiving one of those?"
"As a prosecution witness against Ken Lacey, naturally! The chief prosecution witness, I should say. We'd certainly never get a conviction without you-"
"But what am I going to testify against him about?" I said. "What's old Ken supposed to have went and done?"
"What's he supposed to have done? " George stared at me. "Why-what are you trying to pull, anyway? You know what he's done!"
"Well, now I reckon I forgot," I said. "Maybe you wouldn't mind tellin' me again?"
"Now you see here!" He grabbed me by the shoulders, teeth gritted. "Don't you go dumb on me, Corey. If you want money, all right, but-"
"I'm really plumb puzzled, George." I eased out of his grip. "Why for would I want money?"
"For stating under oath what you've already told me privately. That Ken Lacey murdered Cameron Tramell, alias Curly!"
"Huh?" I said. "Now, wait a minute, George. I didn't tell you nothin' like that."
"Oh, yes, you did! You certainly did tell me that, in so many words. You told me-"
"Well, maybe you got that impression,"! said. "But never mind about that, never mind what I told you. The important thing, I reckon, is what I didn't tell you."
"And what was that?"
"This," I said. "The morning after Ken Lacey left, I saw Moose an' Curly alive."