Free Lake Country by Sean Doolittle Page A

deals? I guess you won’t mind carrying that around, huh?” Hal gave Mike a withering look. “I guess you won’t mind if I have to either.”
    Mike took care not to answer too quickly. He took care to stand straight and to address Hal without direct eye contact, indicating that he was at full attention, not at ease. He took care to make sure that he believed his own answer before he spoke it. He found that what he believed, in his gut, was that Darryl Potter was a lot of things, not all of them charming, and not many of them predictable. But he wasn’t
this
thing.
    “If I thought that was a possibility,” he said, “this conversation wouldn’t be happening. I promise you that.”
    Hal said nothing. He only grimaced. Folded his arms.
    “I’ll check in,” Mike said. “You’ll hear from me by closing time. Promise you that too.”
    “Closing time, huh? Is that all?”
    Of course it was asking for too much, but Mike wanted room to negotiate if necessary. “Not a minute later.”
    Hal looked him over. “Tell me how I hear from you.”
    “I’ll call, Hal. By closing time, if not before.”
    “You’ll call?”
    Mike started to repeat himself, to guarantee it, then understood the question for what it was: a trap.
    No phones at Rockhaven. No cell signals either. He could have guessed Hal’s next words:
Well, you’ve just thought this through up down and sideways, haven’t you, son?
    “From town,” he said. “Or the highway.”
    Hal stood with the same hard look on his face. “Got it all figured out. Is that right?”
    “No, sir.” Mike faced Hal. He took a breath, reached deep down and way back, and said, “But Corporal Potter served under my command, and I believe my judgment of his nature to be sound.” He lowered his eyes to the door knob between them, waiting to be turned. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t.”
    Hal was quiet a long time.
    Mike waited.
    Hal said, “I guess the next thing you’ll tell me is you need to borrow a damn car.”

7
    Mike left the Elbow Room at a quarter past seven with the spare keys to Hal Macklin’s old Dodge pickup in his jacket pocket. Hal lived over the bar but kept the truck on hand for errands and the occasional Sunday afternoon keg delivery, though, according to Hal, the truck needed plugs and a new solenoid before he’d trust it on a road trip. He made a deal with the grease monkeys throwing darts: free pitchers through the weekend if they could open the garage and get the work done inside the hour.
    Mike walked to the end of the alley and found the Dodge in the lot behind the building, where Hal told him it would be. His plan: run the truck across the street, walk home, grab some cash, his Vicodin, some outerwear, maybe a coffee thermos, anything else he figured he’d need and could carry with him. With any luck, by the time he got back, the guys would have him ready to roll out of town.
    He’d climbed into the cab when his jacket pocket chirped. Mike dug out his phone and saw a text message from Tanya Ellerbe:
    Where r u??
    Nobody he knew sent him text messages, including Tanya. Mike hated trying to string together an answer one character at a time, and by the time he finished he could have called the person. Hell, they were already using phones.
    He fiddled with the buttons, looking for the command that let you automatically dial back the incoming number. While he was doing that, the phone chirped again.
    Cops @ yr house rite now. 4 Darryl .
    Mike had to read the words twice. He sat behind the wheel of Hal’s truck in the fading daylight, staring into the bright glow of the phone’s small display screen, thinking,
Shit
.
    Chirp.
    4 U 2!
    Double shit
.
    Now what? Mike tried to think.
    Chirp.
    ! ! !
    “All right, cripes, gimme a second,” he said to the phone. He looked around, as though anyone else might have reason to be back here on this weedy patch of asphalt. But there wasn’t anybody else. He was alone.
    Mike cobbled a reply as quickly as he