42 Days For Murder

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Lester came in my office with the sun hitting his glasses and making them shine like headlights. He said: “Joey Free and some other man are outside and want to see you.”

He stopped, took off his glasses and started to polish them. He can’t see two feet in front of his nose without them, but he peered over toward where I was and added:

“Joey is drunk, I think. I think the other man is drunk, too.”

I said: “It’s early in the day for that, even for Joey. But I wouldn’t let it bother me.”

Lester’s tone showed it bothered him plenty. He had the notion Joey Free built the world and then a neat little picket fence around it. And Lester’s only nineteen and doesn’t appreciate the solid joy a drinking man takes with his drink.

Then Joey and his friend followed Lester in.

Joey is big and stocky, with a body like a keg. He was supposed to have a lot of money and to be spending it on women and liquor far too fast. It wasn’t gossip because I’d been to parties at Joey’s place. The man with him was tall and slat-like and looked very solemn and serious. I had to take another look before I could see the look was put on for effect; that the man was just carrying his liquor carefully.

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