Denton - 01 - Dead Folks' Blues Read Online Free PDF Page A

walls of the racquetball court. “I can’t afford another.”
    I leaned against the wall, hands out, racquet dangling from my right wrist, and did calf stretches. Walter walked over, rested his back against the wall, then slid down in a squat.
    “I got turned down for partner last Friday,” he said quietly.
    It took a moment for his words to penetrate. I pushed myself off the wall and sank, cross-legged, to the floor in front of him.
    “Get the hell out of here,” I said, aghast.
    Walter snickered. “That’s basically what they said.”
    “What the—? Did they give you a reason?”
    His eyes darted back and forth. They were darker, filled with more intensity than I’d ever seen before. There were even traces of purplish circles under his eye sockets, marring an otherwise too-perfect preppie face.
    “They never give a reason. In fact, they didn’t actually tell me I wasn’t going to make the cut. It’s my year, though, and when the list came out, I wasn’t on it.
    “It’s weird, man,” he continued after a moment. “It’s like nobody’ll discuss it. And there’s no appeal. Six years I spent working for these guys.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “Well, I can stay on as an associate another year or two. It’s not as if they actually lock you out of the office. I’ll need to get out as quickly as possible, though. Move on to something else.”
    “Do you have any idea why they passed you over?” I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder or something, but guys don’t do that stuff.
    He rubbed his hands on his forehead. “I’ve got the sneakiest little suspicion it’s related to my divorcing Madelyn. Her father’s in the Belle Meade Country Club with Sam Potter. They golf together.”
    “But, man, I thought the divorce was her idea.”
    “It was,” he sighed, “but only after she found out I wasboinking one of her girlfriends. What was I supposed to do, though? Bitch hit on me. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything.”
    Yeah
, I thought,
nothing but not keep it in your pants
.
    “Aw, jeez, buddy, I’m really sorry. I know how tough it is, man. Listen, we don’t have to be here. You can’t be in the mood for this today. Why don’t we go get a beer?”
    He tapped his racquet on the hard wooden floor. “Actually, I’m kind of up for this. Want to go for it?”
    I dropped my head down, stared at the floor between my legs. “Oh, hell. I think I’m in trouble today.”
    I looked up to see Walter’s glistening white teeth, as regular as the kernels on an ear of corn, lined up behind a malicious smile.
    “I’ll give you first serve,” he said.
    It was the only way I’d have a chance at him, the killer frame of mind he was in. He was tense, poised on the balls of his feet. Taking up position behind me, he danced around gingerly as if I was going to turn around and open up on him with a shotgun—and he wanted to be sure he could get out of the way. A lock of hair dropped down on his forehead, centered perfectly above his eyes. Even in sweaty disarray, this guy looked like something out of
GQ
.
    I bounced the ball a few times, trying to get my timing right. Then I cocked my arm and let one fly. It wasn’t a bad serve, at least not for me, but I should have opened with a lob instead of a power serve. Walter was locked and loaded in the pissed-off position, just waiting for me to zing one by him.
    He jumped to his right, sent the ball flying to the upper-left-hand comer. It took a slow bounce off the roof, then came straight down at me. There was no time to prepare; I raised my racquet and let the ball bounce off it. It landed fair, then dribbled back off the floor. Walter was there as fast as a rat, his racquet under the ball, flipping it expertly off the corner away from me. I lunged for it and wound up on the floor. The ball bounced lazily past me.
    “Oh, hell,” I said again, pulling myself up.
    I didn’t score a point for the next twenty minutes. I did manage to return a few