When Old Men Die Read Online Free

bread this week than in the last ten years."
    "Someone else gave you money to tell them about Harry?"
    "That's what I've been saying.   Takes you a while to catch on, doesn't it."
    "Who was it?"
    "I don't know man, just some guy."
    "What did he look like?"
    Ro-Jo looked at me with what might have been contempt.   It was nearly impossible to see his expression.
    "I don't know, man.   I don't give a damn what people look like."
    He was probably telling the truth.   I didn't press him on it.
    "Did you tell him the same thing you've told me?" I asked.
    "Hell, no, man.   I didn't know him .   I don't tell anybody the truth unless I know 'em."
    "But you're telling me the truth?"
    "Sure, man.   I know you, and Harry knows you.   He says you're all right for a guy who lives in a house."
    "It's not much of a house," I said.
    Ro-Jo opened out his arms.   "More than I got.   You gonna look for Harry?"
    "I'm supposed to."
    "Well, if you find him, tell him Ro-Jo says 'hey.'"
    I promised that I would.

Four
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    I didn't want to try The Island Retreat, not until well after dark and much later in the evening.   Someone was sure to see me if I did.
    That left the old concrete building that Ro-Jo had mentioned, so I headed in that direction.   When I came to the more populated area of the seawall, I glanced over to my right as I passed one of the gift shops that extended out over the Gulf on its own pier.   Only a few yards farther on was The Island Retreat.   Just as I remembered, the doors were securely fastened, the windows boarded up.   I kept on driving.
    After you pass Stewart Beach, there's not much to see.   Suddenly the seawall is on your left, and you're driving practically at sea level.
    There's very little development on that end of the Island, except for two high-rise condos that are practically on the beach, testament to man's undying faith that the next big storm, which is certainly going to come someday, will be perfectly harmless, no more than a passing breeze that might ruffle a few palm branches or tear the blossoms off the oleanders that grow along the esplanade on Broadway.
    It's nice to be optimistic, but I'd put my money on that part of the beach being as clean the day after the storm as if it had been swept by a broom.   Of course I've been wrong before.
    At the far end of the Island was Apffel Park, which at the right time of the year would be covered with tourists and day trippers from Houston.   There probably wouldn't be many people there now, especially at this time of day.   After passing Apffel Park, you came to the Bolivar Roads; there was no more island left.
    The place I was looking for was on the town side of East Beach and within sight of the high-rise condos, but then so is everything else on that end of the Island.
    The building was about a hundred yards off the street, right on the edge of a lagoon.   There was an oyster shell road running down toward it through the tall sea oats, but the road was blocked by a rusty gate.   There was a sign hanging on the gate.   The sign was white with black letters and spotted with rust.   It said:
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    KEEP OUT
    U. S. GOVERNMENT PROPERTY
    TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
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    If I went past the gates, would I be considered a trespasser?   I didn't see how.   After all, the government is the people, isn't it?   And I was one of the people.   So this was my property, wasn't it?   My tax dollars at work, and all that.
    I had a strong feeling that if I were caught, no judge in the country would buy that line of reasoning, but I didn't think I'd be caught.   There certainly wouldn't be a guard.   No one cared about that crumbling old hunk of concrete.   Someone had probably put the sign up because a lawyer had given a speech about liability in case of accident, but I didn't intend to hurt myself and sue.
    I looked around for a place to park the Jeep.   Parking right in front