The Devil's Only Friend Read Online Free PDF

anything.”
    â€œSure he can,” Chew said. “Everybody’s got something to say. Maybe it doesn’t amount to much by itself, but if you start to hear a few names or places more than once, you start to put together a picture in your mind—”
    â€œJesus Christ, Chew, can’t you just look into this one thing for me?”
    He finally let loose. A beaming smile wrapped around his whole face and he slapped his little paw on my shoulder.
    â€œDon’t be so serious, Caudill. I’m not asking you to sell your soul!”
    It didn’t strike me as funny, and I noted with worry that a few knots of businessmen were beginning to wander in for their lunch hour.
    â€œI can’t help it if I like my work!” Chew said. “You wonder why Ernie Pyle tramps around in the mud with those rat-bastard Krauts lobbing grenades at him? Who wants to be cooped up in an office all the time?”
    â€œJust let’s see what you can dig up on this colored woman,” I said. “And then I’ll see if I can think of anything to tell you about this hullabaloo you’re so worried about.”
    â€œIn good faith I’ll ply my trade for you, Caudill. In good faith. Don’t forget now.” He tapped two black fingers to the brim of his hat in a sort of salute.
    â€œI’ll be seeing you,” I said, standing up. Though I did not look back at him, I was sure that Chew had already begun to troll over the arriving customers, grubbing for another story, any odd bit of dirt that he might file away on a slip of paper.
    The wind slapped me again as I left the sheltered door of the tavern. As always, I didn’t know what I would do next. But it seemed that I would have to do something —and I hoped it wouldn’t turn out so messy as the last time.

CHAPTER 4
    I had to make sure my mother wasn’t dead. It was about that time of the month when I looked in on her, and I was already out and about. She was pretty well set up in her little house outside the big city in East Detroit. Though she kept a telephone, and I might well have called her, I forced myself to visit in order to see if anything had fallen off the house.
    I took the Gratiot line as far as 8 Mile and hoofed it the rest of the way. It was only a few blocks, and for most of that the wind was at my back. The neighborhood was quiet. The stiff wind, without any tall buildings to channel it sharply, spread over everything and put a chill in the air. Spring rain had collected in the ditches that lined the street; something farther down had stopped up. There had been talk about installing regular storm drains and putting sidewalks in, and I knew that soon the fair city of East Detroit would put the bite on me for a share of the cost.
    Even though I owned the house, I stood at the door and knocked like a salesman. When the door finally opened, I was prepared for unpleasantness, yet I was still surprised when a strange woman appeared before me. She was as wrecked in appearance as my mother but possessed greater vigor.
    â€œYes?” she said, keeping her foot planted inside the door.
    My instinct was to plow right through, snapping the ankle of the woman blocking passage to the house that I in point of fact owned free and clear. But I only muttered, “I come to see my mother.”
    â€œOh,” she said. “You’re that Pete.” She looked me over anyway just to be sure, as if a gypsy might come into the neighborhood with a patch over his eye and a mangled hand—and know enough to claim to be me.
    â€œWell, is my mother in?”
    â€œOh, sure, sure,” the hag said. “She’ll be so pleased to see you.”
    She stepped back a bit but still crowded the door, so that I had to squirm not to brush up against her as I passed. It might have been emphysema, but I thought I heard disapproval in the way she took in her breath behind me. Then she followed so close at my back that I could