Bring Him Back Dead Read Online Free Page A

am, a fool? I’ve seen the way you crowd aroun’ the platform, tryin’ t’ see up her skirt.” Tears of alcoholic self-pitytrickled down his face. “Jus’ because she’s young an’ pretty an’ married t’ an old man, you want t’ climb into my saddle. An’ for all I know, whenever my back is turned, she lets you.”
    The girl began to cry.
    Latour lost patience with Lacosta and manhandled him to the walk and onto the front seat of the station wagon. “All right,” he told the girl. “Don’t just stand there bawling. Start the motor and get him out of here or I
will
pinch him.”
    Still sobbing, the girl got behind the wheel of the station wagon and backed into the bumper of the car behind. She shifted gears with an effort and smashed into the car in front. Then she leaned her head on her hands and cried.
    Latour reached in through the window and shut off the ignition.
    “All right,” he said, resigned. “You aren’t in much better condition than he is. Just lock it up and I’ll get my car and drive both of you home.”
    • • •
    What breeze there had been had died. The back road was hot and black and humid. Latour drove faster than he normally would, ignoring what the chuckholes in the mud might do to Lacosta, who was passed out and snoring in the back seat of his car.
    The girl had stopped sobbing.
    “What’s your name?” Latour asked her.
    “Rita.”
    “You and Lacosta are married?”
    “I’m not proud of it.”
    “How long have you been married to him?”
    “Four months.”
    Latour stopped feeling put upon and felt sorry for her. As young and pretty as she was, she could have done a lot better for herself.
    The girl read his mind. “I know. I’ve made a mess of it, haven’t I? I was waiting table in a grease joint in Ponchatoula and I got damn sick of it and he promised to put me in show business. Some show business. I was better off in Ponchatoula.”
    “I see,” Latour said. “When did you and Jacques reach town?”
    “This afternoon, about two o’clock.”
    “Did you see anyone in or around the clearing when you pulled in?”
    “No.”
    “But you were still in the trailer up to, say, seven-thirty?”
    “I was. Jacques was working on the motor of the station wagon.”
    “Did you hear some shots around that time?”
    “Yes. Quite a few of them. Right after two men in a big car drove past the clearing.”
    “Jacques heard them, too?”
    “I suppose he did.”
    “Did he say anything about them when he came in?”
    Rita shook her head. “No, he didn’t. But just before he came in, I thought I heard him talking to someone. Why? What did he do except get drunk?”
    “Nothing,” Latour assured her. “But I want to talk to him when he’s sober. It’s just possible he may know something I want to know.”
    He drove past the bay tree by which he’d marked the stand of cane from which the shots had been fired and turned down the weed-grown lane leading to the unlighted house trailer.
    “I’ll help you get him inside.”
    The girl was completely indifferent. “If he gets inside, you’ll have to help him. I’ve got so I let him lie where he falls. Wait. I’ll light a lamp.”
    Latour sat slapping at mosquitoes until the yellow glow of a kerosene lamp outlined the windows and screen door of the trailer. Then he picked up Lacosta’s limp body and carried it inside.
    Rita apologized for the poor lighting. “We used to have a gasoline pressure lantern but Jacques knocked it over one night when he was drunker than usual. We’re lucky it didn’t explode.” She inclined her head toward the far end of the trailer. “He sleeps in there.”
    Latour carried the showman the length of the trailer and dropped him on the double bed in the small bedroom.The old man continued to snore. Latour tried to shake him awake, then gave it up as a bad job. It would be morning before Lacosta would be able to answer any questions.
    He loosened the old man’s tie and took off his shoes and