Free Promised Land by Robert B. Parker

me as crooked,“ I said.
    ”Adolf Hitler was fond of dogs,“ Slade said. ”Say he’s not crooked, say he’s just overextended. Could be.“
    ”Yeah,“ I said, ”could be. But what are we going to do about it?“
    ”How the hell do I know. Am I the whiz-bang from the city? You tell me. We got, to my knowledge, no crime, no victim, no violation of what you big-city types would call the criminal statutes. I’ll have the patrol cars swing by his place more often and have everyone keep an eye out for him. I’ll see if the A.G.‘s office has anything on Shepard’s land operation. You got any other thoughts?“
    I shook my head.
    ”You find his wife?“ Slade asked.
    ”Yeah.“
    ”She coming home?“
    ”I don’t think so.“
    ”What’s he going to do about that?“
    ”Nothing he can do.“
    ”He can go get her and drag her ass home.“
    ”He doesn’t know where she is. I wouldn’t tell him.“
    Slade frowned at me for about thirty seconds. ”You are a pisser,“ Slade said. ”I’ll give you that.“
    ”Yeah.“
    ”Shepard take that okay?“
    ”No, he fired me. Told me that he was going to sue me.“
    ”So you’re unemployed.“
    ”I guess so.“
    ”Just another tourist.“
    ”Yep.“
    Slade did smile this time. A big smile that spread slowly across his face making deep furrows, one on each cheek. ”Goddamn,“ he said and shook his head. ”Goddamn.“
    I smiled back at him, warmly, got up and left. Back in my car, on the hot seats, with the top down, I thought something I’ve thought before. I don’t know what to do, I thought. I started the car, turned on the radio and sat with the motor idling. I didn’t even know where to go. Mrs. Shepard sure wasn’t happy, and Mr. Shepard sure wasn’t happy. That didn’t make them unusual of course. I wasn’t right at the moment all that goddamned happy myself. I supposed I ought to go home. Home’s where you can go and they have to take you in. Who said that? I couldn’t remember. Cynical bastard though. I put the car in gear and drove slowly down Main Street toward the motel. Course at my home there wasn’t any they. There was just me. I’d take me in any time. I stopped for a light. A red-haired girl wearing powder blue flared denim slacks and a lime-colored halter top strolled by. The slacks were so tight I could see the brief line of her underpants slanting across her buttocks. She looked at the car in a friendly fashion. I could offer her a drink and a swim and dazzle her with my Australian crawl. But she looked like a college kid and she’d probably want me to do some dope and rap about the need for love and a new consciousness. The light turned green and I moved on. A middle-aged grump with nowhere to go. It was a little after one when I pulled into the parking lot at my motel. Time for lunch. With renewed vigor I strode into the lobby, turned left past the desk and headed down the corridor toward my room. A fast wash, and then on to lunch. Who’d have thought but moments ago that I was without purpose. When I opened the door to my room Susan Silverman was lying on the bed reading a book by Erik Erikson and looking like she should.
    I said, ”Jesus Christ, I’m glad to see you.“ With her finger in the book to keep her place she turned her head toward me and said, ”Likewise, I’m sure“ and grinned. Often she smiled, but sometimes she didn’t smile, she grinned. This was a grin. I never knew for sure what the difference was but it had something to do with gleeful wickedness. Her smile was beautiful and good, but in her grin there was just a hint of evil. I dove on top of her on the bed, breaking the impact of my weight with my arms, and grabbed her and hugged her.
    ”Ow,“ she said. I eased up a little on the hug, and we kissed each other. When we stopped I said, ”I am not going to ask how you got in here because I know that you can do anything you want to, and getting the management to aid and abet you in a B and E would be