Don't Ever Get Old Read Online Free Page A

to be,” I said.
    I shot the bull with them until the detective from homicide came out of the elevator.
    â€œShit,” he said as he walked toward me. “You’re really Buck Schatz. I thought these kids were playing some kind of prank on me.”
    He told me his name was Randall Jennings, and I shook his hand. He was medium height, early forties, white. Dark hair, graying at the temples. Rumpled suit. Yellowish sweat stains on his shirt collar. Mustache.
    â€œYou know, I always wondered what I’d say if I ever met you,” he said.
    â€œI’m listening.”
    â€œHow’d a guy with so many enemies manage to live so long?”
    I smiled, and I told Randall Jennings my favorite story from the war.
    Before we hit the beach at Normandy, General Eisenhower came to wish us luck. I got close enough to shake his hand, and I asked him if he had any suggestions as to how I might stay alive to see my wife again.
    When Ike looked at me, there was real sadness in his eyes, because he knew a lot of us wouldn’t survive the next couple of days. And I’ll never forget what he told me.
    â€œSoldier,” he said, squeezing my shoulder, “when you have nothing left to hang on to, you just hang on to your gun.”
    It seemed like good advice, so I followed it.
    â€œThat’s it?” Jennings asked, unimpressed. “That’s your secret?”
    â€œThat’s it,” I said. “But it’s no small edge in the longevity game for a man to be able to put something persuasive between himself and anyone looking to do him harm.”
    He scratched thoughtfully at the stubble on his chin. “Now the story we tell here is that the day Buck Schatz took his pension, he slammed his gun down on Captain Heller’s desk and told the old man to shove that piece right up his fat ass.”
    I chuckled a little. “I told Max Heller to stuff my badge. The gun was not department issued. It was mine, and I hung on to it.”
    Jennings laughed at that. “So, what brings you to the CJC today?” he asked.
    â€œI am trying to find a man I know from way back. I thought he was dead, but then I heard recently, maybe he’s not. I wanted to see if you could look for him with your computer.”
    He raised an eyebrow at my request. “This guy killed somebody?”
    â€œNot that I know of. At least not lately.”
    â€œDoes he have a name?”
    â€œThat’s my problem. I figure he’s operating under an alias, but I don’t know what it is. He’d have fake papers, good ones, under the pseudonym.”
    â€œSo you want me to find you a man with no name?”
    â€œYeah. With your computer. I see on the television that y’all have access to all kinds of databases and satellites and DNA. Whenever the case looks like a dead end, the TV cops always find some impossible connection on the Internet. I thought you might be able to dig up a police report or a mug shot. Even a traffic citation would give me more recent information than I have right now.”
    â€œAll right. Let’s see what I can do for you.”
    We rode the elevator up to the homicide office. Jennings led me to his cubicle and sat down in front of his computer, and I grabbed a chair on the other side of the desk.
    â€œThis is Google,” he explained to me. “It is the most powerful database in the world. You can find anything with this.”
    â€œThey talk about that a lot on Fox News,” I said. “I remember back when the only ‘Google’ was the sound a guy made when you punched him in the throat.”
    Jennings typed the words man with no name into the Google and stared intently at the screen. Then his face lit up, and I leaned toward the machine to see what he’d found.
    â€œOkay, it says you’re looking for this man here. He should be easy to find.”
    He angled the computer so I could see it.
    I was looking at a picture of Clint