Cold in July Read Online Free PDF

to forget it. Get
on with your life. People are going to talk about it and you’re going to hear
it. It’ll be rough for a while. But it’ll pass.”
    “What time are they burying him?”
    “You’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
    “Just humor me, Price. I don’t know I’m going to do
anything, but it would make me feel better to know. Day after tomorrow when?”
    Price sighed. “One-thirty. But Dane, do yourself a favor.
Stay away.”
    I hung up and dialed a good friend of mine who’s a house
painter, gritted my teeth and told him what had happened. I tried to make it
simple and clear.
    “Hell, Richard, I’m sorry.”
    “No need to be,” I said. “It’s done. Look, what I need is
for you to paint my living room. It’s not that there’s still blood on the wall,
but it would make me feel better to have a fresh coat on the room.”
    “I understand, I’ll get my boys and we’ll be over there
about noon.”
    “Thanks, Ted. And I’m calling a locksmith and the furniture
store. You beat any of them there, let them in. Best way for you to get in is
to take some wire pliers and go around back and cut through the wire rig I made
last night.”
    “No problem,” Ted said.
    “Thanks.”
    I used the book again and got the number of a furniture
store.
    “I want a couch,” I said, and I gave them the colors of the
room, the general dimensions. They described what they had and I picked. I
hoped Ann would like it well enough. Buying it sight unseen was not a good
idea, but I just didn’t want to deal with people face to face any more than I
had to.
    “When can you deliver? I’d like it today if you could.”
    “That will be fine. About one o’clock all right?”
    “That’s good. There’ll be a painter there named Ted Lawson
to let you in. Could you take my old couch off my hands? It’s not good for
anything, but I’ll pay you extra to carry it off.”
    He thought on that a moment. “I suppose we can do that. No
charge.”
    “Good. And could you cover the new one with plastic?. I
don’t want to get paint on it.”
    He said they could, and I hung up, then dialed the
locksmith.
    “Truman’s Locks, Truman speaking.”
    “My name is Richard Dane, and—”
    “You’re the fella shot that burglar last night, ain’t you?”
    Great Godalmighty, word sure did move.
    “That’s right. I need a lock on the door he tore up. Can you
do it today?”
    “I can start today. Depends on how bad the door is busted.
You might have to get someone out there to fix that first”
    “It just needs a lock,” I said.
    “All right. Hey, they gonna put you in jail?”
    “It was self-defense.”
    “That don’t mean nothing these days. You can’t trust the
cops any better than the crooks. What’s that address?”
    I told him.
    “Say, Mr. Dane. How about a burglar alarm and some burglar
bars? I could fix you up real good. Goddamn Houdini couldn’t get in your house
once I got you secured.”
    I knew he was working on my paranoia, and I knew I’d regret
it later. "Yeah," I said. "Let's shoot the works."
    “Good move. We’ll get that lock and the bars in today. Start
on that alarm system tomorrow. That sound okay?”
    “Peachy,” I said, and hung up.
    I went up-front and sat at my booth again and finished my
Coke. It tasted a little better. I looked at the clock behind the counter and
over the mirror. Eleven. Too early for lunch.
    To hell with that.
    “Kay,” I called, “how about you get that cook in back to fix
me up a fried egg sandwich, and don’t hold the grease.”
    “Got it,” she said, then yelled to the back. “Clyde.”
    A black man in a stained white apron appeared at the cook
window. “Two baby chicks, dead on bread and don’t hold the grease,” she said.
    Clyde tapped two fingers to his forehead in salute and
disappeared. I heard grease splattering in a pan a little later.
    Kay came over with a Lone Star beer and sat it on the table.
“On the house,” she said.
    I took my time drinking the