Dead Letter Read Online Free PDF Page A

side and, by God, they carry me off the field like I’m
hurt. As I’m being carried off, I see out of the corner of my eye
one of the assistants talking to that blonde tease along the
sideline. And, sure enough, as soon as I get to the runway, she
sidles off after me.
    "Harry, I played the best fourth quarter of
football you ever seen. I caught ’em with my hands, with my feet. I
caught ’em with my goddamn teeth. And we won that game, Harry.
Afterward, coach comes to me and says, 'If she can do that between
quarters, think what she could do before the game.' I didn’t have
to think about that. Only mistake I made was marrying the bitch
instead of just using her to warm up with."
    "Bullet," I said to him. "You’re
full of shit, you know that?"
    "I got brown eyes, ain’t I?" He laughed
so loud the glasses stacked along the bar rang. "Let me see your
hand," he said, swiping at my arm. "Oh, man, I can see from
here what your trouble is."
    "That’s not it, smart ass," I said.
    "It’s always that, Harry. That’s about the
only thing life’s taught me." Bullet smacked his lips.
"Pussy’s behind everything. Pussy or money. Now, don’t you
want to tell me what life’s taught you‘?"
      "You’re a strange nigger, Bullet."
    He laughed again. "Well, at least you’re
smiling. And that’s something."
    It was indeed. Between Bullet and the liquor I kept
smiling right up until nine o’clock, when Professor Lovingwell,
looking like Sherlock Holmes in an ulster coat and deer-stalker cap,
walked into the bar.
    "This isn’t your idea of a disguise, is it?"
I asked him when he sat down across from me.
    He looked miffed and replied: "I wear this
outfit every evening when I go out walking. Do I look that
ridiculous?"
    "Eccentric," I said.
    Lovingwell sighed. "That word, again. It’s
been following me around most of my life."
    "And all you ever wanted was to be one of the
guys?"
    "Hardly." He glanced about the room as if
the Busy Bee were not his idea of a good time and said, "I’m
afraid we’re going to have to make this fairly quick. Sarah thinks
I’ve gone out for a walk—damn deception, again. If I don’t
return in an hour or so, she’ll get worried or suspicious or both."
    "All right," I said. "I’ll come
straight to the point. I told you this afternoon that someone might
be setting your daughter up. Since I’ve examined the prints that
analysis has changed."
    "Now you think someone’s trying to 'set me
up,' do you?" he asked.
    "Very good. You’re starting to think like a
detective."
    He shrugged. "It’s fairly obvious. My
fingerprints on the safe. The empty envelope in my house. I’ve
thought it through all evening and I’m a little afraid of my
conclusion."
    "Why would she do it?" I said.
    Lovingwell threw up his hands in dismay. "I
simply don’t know. Our relationship isn’t perfect. I don’t know
of a father’s and daughter’s that is. We’ve fought a bit
lately. As I told you, she hates the work I’m doing on reactors.
And I can appreciate her point of view. The hell of it is when you
start arguing with someone, you say things you don’t mean. It’s
hard to take them back later," he said with a grimace. "Let
me be honest with you. I’ve been very critical of my daughter’s
lifestyle. Some of the criticisms were prompted by jealousy, some of
them needed to be said. Sarah’s the kind of person who can never do
things halfway. She flings herself into every enterprise, whether
it’s politics, romance, or drugs. I didn’t object to the
boys—well, I did but I didn’t say so. The politics I sympathize
with. But the drugs. The night before the document was stolen we had
a 'discussion,' as it’s known around our household. I’d found
some pills in her room while I was cleaning up. She accused me of
snooping behind her back. I accused her of . . . well, of doing a
stupid and illegal thing. Saturday morning she walked out and didn’t
return until Sunday afternoon."
    Lovingwell stared darkly at