Free Paris Trout by Pete Dexter Page A

him."
    "No need for that," Seagraves said. "I
think we'd both be served to keep this as uncomplicated as possible."
    "Thank you, Mr. Seagraves, and we'll see you at
one."
    Seagraves put the phone back in its cradle, surprised
at Ward Townes's sudden anger — which wasn't noticeable unless you
knew him — and opened one of the lower drawers in his desk. He put
his feet in the drawer, resting them on somebody's papers. He didn't
look to see whose. He thought of Buster Devonne on the witness stand
testifying against Paris Trout. Confused and undignified and scared.
    He thought of Buster Devonne, and then he thought of
the witnesses from Indian Heights. Paris Trout would be sitting
beside him all the time in a blue suit, where the jury could compare
him to his accusers. He might not need to say a word.
    Still, something in it tugged at him. He called Mrs.
Grandy in the outside office. "Did you locate Dr. Braver yet?"
    " No sir, they said he's having a time with that
boy."
    "Keep trying him for me," he said.
"Meantime, get me Paris Trout. He'll be at the store."
    "Yessir," she said. A minute later she
knocked and put her head inside. "There's no answer at the
store," she said.
    " Did you try the house?"
    " Yessir, I got his wife, but she said Mr. Trout
wasn't there." Harry Seagraves took his feet out of the drawer
and slipped them into his shoes.
    "You want me to keep trying?" she said.
    " No," he said. "I'll go over there
myself. I need the exercise."
    She said, "What if Dr. Braver calls?"
    He said, "Tell him I'll be over to
see him directly."
    * * *
    SEAGRAVES FOUND PARIS TROUT in the back office of his
store. The front entrance was still locked — it was after ten
o'clock — so Seagraves had walked around the block to the alley and
found the door there open. Trout was holding his head in his hands
when Seagraves caught him, gray hair spilling out between his
fingers, his elbows resting on the table. He was focused on a bill of
sale in front of him. There was a bottle of mineral water next to the
paper and a strong body odor in the air.
    Seagraves said, "Mr. Trout?"
    Trout looked up slowly. His eyes were blood red, and
the front of his shirt was wrinkled, as if he'd slept in it. "It's
here in black-and-white," he said.
    A light bulb hung from the ceiling, a little behind
the table, and when Trout took his finger off the bill of sale, the
shadow faded and grew until it covered most of the document.
    "Right here," Trout said. "Account
payable, Henry Ray Boxer. One thousand and twenty-seven dollars for a
1949 Chevrolet. Neither God nor man can say that debt wasn't legal. I
have the proof." He pushed the paper at Seagraves, Seagraves did
not move. "Look for yourself?
    The bill of sale was written in a tiny, neat
handwriting, the signatures were scrawled and unreadable. Seagraves
did not try to read it.
    "Ward Townes called, like we thought," he
said quietly. "He wants to see us this afternoon at one
o'clock."
    " Does he care to see the bill of sale?"
    Seagraves said, °'We can bring the bill of sale."
    " It's black-and-white," Trout said again.
"That car was sold as legal as the seal of Georgia." His
eyes opened wider, a frightening color. Seagraves realized he had no
idea whatsoever of the transformations going on in his head.
    " It would be a good idea you went home and
changed shirts," he said. "Shaved, cleaned yourself up."
    Trout touched the bill of sale again. "He don't
need me," he said.
    " He's got everything he needs to settle this
right here."
    " No," Seagraves said, "we got to see
him ourselves."
    Trout suddenly stood up and slammed his fist into the
middle of the table. Dust stirred, it settled. "He don't believe
these are the real signatures?"
    Seagraves was suddenly aware of the size of Paris
Trout and the size of the room, and he wished he'd used the
telephone. More than that, he wished Paris Trout was somebody else's
client. This had a feeling he didn't like, that he was drawn into
something further than he ought