Free Trust by George V. Higgins Page A

motel and I pull in the lot, and the first thing I see is the car.‘The fucking asshole’s still
here.
’ I pretend it means nothing, nothing, just one of my guests, and I park in my usual place. I walk slow to the office and open it up, put my beer in the refrigerator. I am wondering if I get in more trouble if I do what I want, which is kill him. I decide that I probably will. I take one of the beers and go out on the porch. I sit down in the chair and I sip it. All I am doing is having a beer, wait for the night clerk to come.
I’m
not watching the parking lot and the road like a fucking eagle looking for a fucking fish. No sir, not me. I’m just sitting on my own porch, having a nice cold beer. I never even saw that unmarked cruiser with the two suits in it come rolling down the road like it’s going to a fire, then slow down fast and pull into my lot, nice and quiet. I never even saw the two suits inside it, or the guy that wasn’t driving start rolling down the window with this camera in his hand. It was just, I just happened to decide, you know, I hadda go inside for something that I all of a sudden remembered I hadda do in there. Could’ve been they pulled around, like I hear, so the guy with the camera could just sit there shooting picture after picture. I certainly didn’t see it. I was onna phone.
    “I said: ‘Judge, there is a problem. There’s a problem with two guys out there in a car, and one of them has got a camera, which my guess is he is using. I bet he’s got film in it too. Now I don’t know if you still got some lead left in your pencil, and I don’t know how long these guys’ve got to sit around in my yard taking pictures, but I think what you and your roomie should do there is see if she can get another rise out of you, you know what I mean. Or if that doesn’t work, get the Bible out the bureau there and read some prayers to each other. Because if what’s going on that I think’sgoing on, you’re gonna need all the help you can get anyway so you might as well start applying. And anything’s better’n you running out there right now, which you should’ve done the first time I called you, and getting your picture took, too.’
    “He sounded like he swallowed something that he didn’t finish chewing. ‘You think they’re cops?’ he says.
    “ ‘Well, I don’t know that for sure,’ I say. ‘They might be from one of those outfits that makes the picture postcards, and they picked my lot for the view. Or maybe they’re from Duncan Hines, right? And I’m getting recommended, his next guide. Or it could be the Beatles checked in last night, and the night clerk forgot to mention it, and these guys out there’re from
Time.
Does it matter? You just stay fuckin’ put, and they’re still here, it gets dark,
don’t
turn the fuckin’ lights on. Don’t make any noise, even if you
don’t
hear anything outside the door. Don’t run the TV. Those guys’re as quiet as cats. Don’t open it, somebody knocks. If they pull that routine, talking loud: “I know he’s in there, goddamnit—let’s just kick the thing down,” don’t fall for it, all right? They need a warrant for that. Don’t flush the fucking toilet. Gotta pee? Fine, then so piss down the side of the bowl. Don’t let it splash. Don’t run the fucking sink. Don’t go in the fucking shower and start playing games in there. Those guys are likely to come in here, ask me, see my register. And I got to show it to them. That’s the law. And don’t be surprised if that happens. I’m not fucking around with you here. If these guys’re cops, like my guess is, they are, they get their asses made by U.S. Steel, the very best grade. Rust’s the only thing bothers them—they can sit on those asses forever. And if they do decide it’s time, go and get a bite to eat, two more’llprobably show up to replace them. So I’m not telling you, this’s guaranteed to do it, get you out of this. But at least it won’t make it