Free The Huckleberry Murders: A Sheriff Bo Tully Mystery by Patrick F. McManus

back. All the pool players were standing there, staring at him. “Go back to your game, boys,” he called. “The entertainment is over.”

12
    TULLY DROPPED OFF his unmarked car in the Sheriff’s Department’s garage and went up to the office. Daisy had cleaned off her desk and was getting ready to leave.
    “Any word from Pugh?” he asked.
    “Yeah, he called from the hospital. He said the guy who had the attack at Slade’s apparently had a kidney problem. They’re going to run some tests.”
    “Good. I hope they’re all painful. Anything else?”
    “Yes, come to think of it. Your fortune-teller called and asked that you get in touch.”
    Tully grimaced. “First of all, Daisy, Etta Gorsich is not a fortune-teller. Second, she isn’t mine.”
    “If you say so, boss.”
    Tully stood there and glared as Daisy picked up her purseand strode out the door, her high heels clicking smartly on the marble-chip floor. Then he shrugged. By Monday he would be able to think up a good response. He would call Etta tomorrow.
    He gulped down a hamburger and a beer in Crabbs Lounge and then drove over to the hospital. The cute redheaded nurse was working the admissions desk, but there was a line of people waiting for her attention. He sat down in the waiting room to give the line time to shorten. A drunk was at that moment pleading for her attention. She frowned sternly at him and pointed toward the waiting room. Tully grabbed up a magazine and pretended to read. He knew the drunk would head directly for him. He was a magnet for drunks. The guy sat down beside him. He looked and smelled as if he had been living in a Dumpster for the past month.
    “I got beat up,” he told Tully.
    “That right?” Tully didn’t look up from his magazine. He noticed he was staring at an ad on the latest weight-loss miracle.
    “Yeah,” the drunk said. “My brother did it.”
    “Oh.”
    “Yeah, my own brother. Can you believe that?”
    Tully detected that the fellow hadn’t been near bathwater in perhaps a year. He thought maybe his eyes were starting to water, because the weight-loss ad had blurred. He lowered the magazine and looked over at the nurse. A city cop was talking to her. The redhead pointed at the drunk. The cop turned and looked. He was a big guy, with a nose that had been broken too many times and multiple scars scattered about his face. Hisname was Tim Doyle and he worked the neighborhood that surrounded Slade’s. He walked over and said hello to Tully. Then he spoke to the drunk. “You’re coming with me, Willy.”
    “How come, Tim?” Willy said. “I didn’t do nothing.”
    “You called in a complaint that Lyle assaulted you. Now I want you to come with me to hunt down Lyle. You make a complaint, we have to follow up on it.”
    “Okay.” The drunk pushed himself up out of the chair.
    Relieved, Tully lowered his magazine. “How’s it going, Tim?”
    “Same ol’, same ol’, Bo. Bet you’re here to check out Scarlett.”
    “If by any chance you mean that lovely redheaded nurse over there, Tim, nothing could be further from my mind. What I really like is to stop by for conversations with people like Willy here.”
    “I bet. Well, Willy’s all right. Come on, Willy.”
    Tully watched them. As the cop and Willy walked by the admissions desk, Scarlett called out, “Take care of yourself, Willy! You too, Tim!”
    Willy beamed at her.
    Tim shook his head. “He’s going to be riding around with me the rest of the night, Scarlett.”
    The admittance line had disappeared for the moment. Tully got up and walked over. Odd, he thought. They’re like some strange underground family here, cop, nurse, drunk, people who see one another almost every day. It’s as if they look out for one another.
    Scarlett glanced up. “You have to be Sheriff Bo Tully. I’m Scarlett O’Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    “From whom, may I ask?”
    “Your deputies, of course. They come in here to get patched up.”
    “I’m not