Free Ticket to Ride by Ed Gorman Page A

She came from the Hills and she had a limp. You sure wouldn’t want either of those things in the blood line.”
    â€œChoate. West Point. Hyannis Port. Lou did all right for himself coming from here.”
    â€œYeah, but only because his old man inherited a fortune when Lou was eight years old.”
    That was what I meant about Kenny knowing the town. “I’d forgotten that. Where’d the money come from?”
    â€œOil. The father’s brother was a wildcatter. He was also a convicted felon. Nearly killed a man in a bar fight in Waco. Served three years. But all was forgiven when his gushers came in. Full pardon from the governor.” He smiled. “You know how fast money can make you respectable. Surprised the Pope didn’t make him a saint.”
    â€œWhat about Bennett’s business partner Roy Davenport?”
    â€œAnother felon. Lou liked to walk right up to the line legally. He had a number of businesses that probably involved outright crime, including cheap cigarettes in from Canada. He needed a fixer. Davenport was his fixer for the side businesses, but he was impressive enough to meet people at the country club.”
    â€œWhy’d Davenport leave Bennett?”
    â€œA woman named Sally Crane. She was one of their secretaries. Lou hired good-looking married women who were willing to stay a little late if there were bonuses in their paychecks. Davenport started sleeping with the Crane woman on the side. Except Bennett didn’t want to share her and couldn’t believe that Davenport actually had feelings for her. They got into a fistfight one night and Davenport beat him up pretty badly. And that was that.”
    â€œIf you hear anything more about Davenport, let me know, huh? I already owe you a good meal for what you just told me.”
    â€œI’ll keep calling people, seeing what I can find out.”
    By the time I reached the door, Kenny had already turned back to his typewriter. By the time I reached the ground and was greeted by a hand-slurping Pepper, Kenny was punishing his typewriter at a rate poor Jamie could only dream of.

    Lynn Shanlon wore a white T-shirt and red shorts. She probably caused more than one man to gawk at her as he passed by in his car. She was comely and cute as she shoved the hand mower across the sloping front yard of her small white clapboard house. If she noticed me pulling into her driveway, she didn’t let on. She thrust that mower with serious intent. A buccaneer of the blades.
    I stood on the edge of her lawn and waited until she’d turned back in my direction. I waved when she saw me. She didn’t wave back. She mowed her way to me and then stopped, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her arm. The displeasure in the brown eyes told me that she knew who I was and didn’t like me at all.
    â€œWondered if I could talk to you.”
    Despite the wrinkles around eyes and mouth, her perfect little features would always keep an air of youth about her.
    â€œI guess you’re forgetting what you did to me, Mr. McCain.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œMy neighbor down the block—Mrs. Hearne?—you represented her against me. She claimed that my boyfriend’s dog always tore up her garden?”
    â€œShe filed the complaint against him, right? Pekins or something like that?”
    â€œPerkins. And it was one of the reasons we broke up. I got too good a deal on this house to move, and he wouldn’t live here with me without his dog.”
    â€œBut the dog was tearing up her garden. She had a pretty reasonable complaint.”
    She sighed. Her thin arms were covered with blades of grass. She dug into the pocket of her shorts and brought out a pack of Chesterfields. She got one lighted and said, “Oh, hell, who am I kidding? We were going to break up anyway, I guess. Every time I’d bring up marriage, he’d change the subject. But that doesn’t make