Armageddon Rag Read Online Free PDF Page A

sure,” Sandy said, but Theodore hadn’t waited for an answer. A bare few minutes later, he was packed into one of the sheriff’s cars, heading out of town in the company of a gangling, horsefaced deputy named David (“Call me Davie”) Parker. Parker was about Sandy’s age, though his receding brown hair made him look older. He had an amiable smile and a clumsy way of moving.
    “How long will it take us to get to the house?” Sandy asked as they pulled out from the curb.
    “Depends on how fast we go,” Parker replied. “It isn’t far as the crow flies, but it’s all back roads. Takes a while.”
    “I’m only supposed to have you for an hour.”
    Parker laughed. “Oh, that. Don’t worry about it. I’m coming off shift and I got nothing better to do, so I might as well run you out to Lynch’s. Notch is just out of sorts with reporters. Two of them spelled his name wrong after the press conference.”
    “It
is
Theodore?” Sandy said, checking his notes.
    “Yeah. But it’s Edwin, not Edward.”
    Sandy was double-checking that when the deputy said, “Speaking of names, you’re Sandy Blair, right? The writer?”
    “Uh, yeah.”
    “I’ve read your books. Two of them, anyway.”
    “Which two?” Sandy said, astonished.
    “
Open Wounds
and
Copping Out,
” Parker said. “You sound surprised.”
    “I am.”
    Parker gave him a shrewd sidelong glance. “Cops
do
read, you know. Well, some cops. And this isn’t the wilderness you New Yorkers think it is. We get movies up here, books, newspapers, even rock and roll.”
    “I didn’t…” Sandy began, then thought better of it. “What did you think of the novels?” he asked.
    “
Open Wounds
was too depressing for my taste,” Parker said. “You write pretty well, I’ll give you that. Didn’t like the ending of
Copping Out
.”
    “Why not?” Sandy said, a bit bemused at the idea of chewing over the merits of his first novel with a deputy in the Maine woods en route to a murder site.
    “Because your hero is an asshole. What’s the point? He’s finally gotten a decent job, he’s making some money, being responsible for the first time in his life, and he chucks it all. For what? Even he doesn’t know. If I remember right, it ends with him walking down a street, wondering where it leads. It doesn’t even bother him that he’s out of work, that he’s let down everybody who was counting on him.”
    “But that’s the point,” Sandy said. “It
doesn’t
bother him. It’s a happy ending. He’s free. Finally. He’s stopped selling out.”
    “Wonder how long that lasted,” Parker said.
    “What does that mean?”
    “When did you write that book?”
    “I started it back around ’69 or so, but I didn’t get around to finishing it until I left the
Hog
seven years ago.”
    “Well,” said Parker, “all this bopping around being free was fine back then, but I’d be curious to know how it’s lasted. How’s your guy like poverty after a decade of it? Where does he crash these days? Bet you he don’t get laid as often now as he did in your book. I’d like to see this jerk in the Eighties, friend. I’d lay odds he’s selling out again.”
    “
Touché,
” Sandy said glumly. “All right, the novel’s a bit naïve. What can I say? It was a reflection of its time and social context. You had to be there.”
    Parker glanced at him. “I’m about your age.”
    “Maybe it depended on which side of the barricades you were on.”
    “I wasn’t on either side. I was over in ’Nam, getting shot at while you and your characters were getting stoned and getting laid.” The deputy was still smiling, but there was a faint bitter edge to his voice that Sandy found unnerving.
    “You weren’t there on account of me, friend,” Sandy said. The subject made him uncomfortable; he changed it. “Let’s talk about this Lynch business. Who did it?”
    Parker had a warm laugh. “You come right to the point. Hell, we don’t know who did it.”
    They had