Michael Lister - Soldier 02 - The Big Beyond Read Online Free PDF Page A

life.”
    “There you go again,” I said.
    “It’s true.”
    “He saved my life today,” I said. “And that’s not the first time. Or the fourth.”
    “So you’re saying you two are squared?”
    “No. I’m saying
I
owe him.”
    She nodded like that explained everything.
    “What?”
    “That’s what I mean,” she said. “He’s not just trying to repay you. I mean, he
is
—’cause I don’t care what you say, you two are not even, not even close and he knows it—but there’s more to it than that. He cares for you.”
    “Okay. Okay. Enough of that,” I said. “So we know why Clip’s doing what he’s doing. Doesn’t explain why you are. Why’d my sometime drinking buddy turn all Nancy Drew and find me, and then all Florence Nightingale and nurse me back to health?”
    “Mister, you’re a long way from health,” she said. “And you sure ain’t helping yourself none.”
    “Sure. Still doesn’t answer why. Why’re you doing so much for me?”
    She shot me an amused look and let out a little-girl giggle. “Same reason as Clip, silly,” she said. “Very same reason.”

Chapter 8
    T hat night, Clip was awakened by Pookie, a cousin who stayed with him sometimes, with the news that a cop was at the front door asking to see him.
    “Asking or demanding?” Clip asked.
    “I ’on’t know. Why?”
    “Need to know if trouble’s waiting for me out there.”
    “Clip, po-leese always be trouble.”
    “Good point,” Clip said, removing the revolver from the table beside his bed and shoving it in the back of his suspendered pants.
    Clip’s shack in Shine Town was tiny, and it didn’t take him long to get to the front door.
    Located in the easternmost section of St. Andrews originally known as East End, Shine Town was the Negro community named after a big moonshiner named Shine who moved in after the mill closed, and made and sold rum. Before him, back when it was East End, a man named Thompson ran a saw mill. Lumber from the head of East Bay was floated down to the head of Massalina Bayou, and the mill workers lived in homes built by the mill owner, known as the quarters.
    Clip stepped outside to see a thick-bodied middle-aged white man in a day-wrinkled shirt. Weary and in serious need of a shave, the cop didn’t appear to pose much of a threat.
    Didn’t mean he didn’t.
    “You Clipper Jones?”
    “I is, but I didn’t know she was white.”
    “Huh?”
    “Nothin’. What you want?”
    “Got a message for Jimmy Riley.”
    “Then send him a telegram.”
    “It’s important. His old partner Pete is missing and I need to talk to him. I need his help.”
    “Who’s help? What was that name again?”
    “Look, it’s on the level. I swear it. I want to talk to Jimmy. I’m gonna ask for his help, not arrest him. I know he hasn’t killed anybody.”
    The look Clip gave him made him amend his statement.
    “I mean I know he’s not guilty of murder.”
    Clip smiled.
    “Will you take me to him?”
    “What’s your name?”
    “Rogers. Delton Rogers. Used to work with Jimmy back when he and Pete were partners. I’m a friend.”
    “I know all his friends and none of ’em is cops. Same as the rest of us.”
    “Tell you what. You give Jimmy the message. No harm in that. He’ll want to hear what I have to say. Just let him decide. Give him the message.”
    “See,” Clip said. “Tol’ you all you needed was a telegram.”
    L ater that night, I convinced Ruth Ann to drive me in her ’41 Ford Club Coupe to my old office at the Parker Detective Agency.
    We were smoking Chesterfields and the car was filled with smoke.
    The November night was cold, and in addition to her woolen Reefer coat, Ruth Ann wore a plaid head kerchief with a self-fringe, just a bit of her blond hair visible just above her forehead.
    Downtown was a dichotomy. Since the war began, many of the places on the main drag were open all night, but just one block away in any direction it was deserted—empty streets bathed in