Free Sideswipe by Charles Willeford

me questions, Pop. I'll tell you what I want you to do for me. First, put the clip ping away--in your shirt pocket."
     
    Stanley refolded the clipping and put it away. Troy rubbed his nose for a moment, then looked intently at the old man. "It's really simple, Pop. When they turn you loose, later tonight or tomorrow morning, look in the phone book and find out where Henry Collins lives. As a truck driver, he's bound to have a phone, but if he doesn't, check the city register for his address."
     
    Stanley nodded. "I can do that easy enough."
     
    "Fine. Then go to his house and see him for me. Hand him that clipping, and tell him to read it."
     
    "Is that all?"
     
    "Not quite. After he's read the clipping, tell him to drop the charges against me or I'll kill him. But tell him I won't kill him until after I've killed his wife and child first."
     
    "I can't do that!"
     
    "Of course you can, Pop. I wouldn't hurt a fly, any more than you would. But Collins doesn't know that. Just tell him what I said. Then he can tell the desk sergeant he was dazed by the accident and only thought I had a pistol, and now that his memory's come back he wants to rectify his mistake and withdraw the charges."
     
    "But you really did have a pistol--"
     
    "That's right, a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson."
     
    "And Mr. Collins knows you had the pistol."
     
    "That's right."
     
    "I don't think he'd do it."
     
    "I do."
     
    "Well..." Stanley thought for a minute. "I don't think I could do nothing like that. You've been mighty nice to me and all, telling me about things and cheering me up, but that's a lot to ask--even if I do get out."
     
    "You'll get out, don't worry."
     
    "You really think so?"
     
    "I know so. And what I asked you to do, a small favor for me, won't take much of your time. You're retired, so what else have you got to do with your time?"
     
    "It ain't the time, son. I'm afraid. If I went to Mr. Collins with a message like that one, he might think I'm in on it and call the police. Then I'd be back in here with you."
     
    "I see what you mean. There's a way around that. Write out the message. Print it on a plain piece of paper, and keep it short. Then put the message and the clipping in an envelope, and print Mr. Collins's address on the outside."
     
    "I don't know his address."
     
    "You can look it up, like I already told you, in the phone book. Then you can take it to Collins, and tell him you found the letter on the street, and it didn't have any stamp on it, so you thought you'd bring it to his house because it might be important. In fact, you might even ask him for a reward, or a tip. That might be even better. And if he or his wife aren't home, just drop it in his mailbox."
     
    "I could put a stamp on it and mail it instead."
     
    "No, that would take too long, and mailing it could get you into trouble with the Post Office--if they found out about it. I haven't got that kind of time."
     
    "I guess I could do that much all right."
     
    "Sure you could. And this way, you'll just be a good Samaritan delivering a letter you found on the street, the way any good citizen returns a lost wallet to someone who's lost it."
     
    "All right. If I get out, I'll do it."
     
    "Thanks, Pop. I really appreciate it. Now you better let me tell you some more questions the shrink'll ask you, in case you get a psychological examination. Suppose you're playing baseball, and you knock your ball into a circular field surrounded by a ten-foot wall. How do you find the ball?"
     
    An hour later, Stanley was out on the street again. They had given him back his wallet, his belt and shoelaces, an unused Kleenex tissue, and eighty-four cents in change. John Sneider, Pammi's father, was waiting outside the jail in his tow truck to drive Stanley back to his empty house in Ocean Pines Terraces.
     
    CHAPTER 5
     
    The El Pelicano Arms apartment house was a hundred yards north of the public tennis courts, about sixty yards south of the Ocean Mall, and