Free What the Dead Men Say by Ed Gorman Page A

seem to forget something, Carlyle. We’re not killers. Hell, we’re not even thieves. We didn’t get any money at all from that robbery. We killed a little girl by accident and we’re going to fry in hell for what we did. But that still don’t make us killers. That still don’t mean we could pick up a gun and kill a man in cold blood.” He nodded to Kittredge. “At least Kittredge and I couldn’t.” He turned back to Carlyle. “And I don’t think you could, either. Not when you came right down to it. You like your hootch and you like your whores but that’s a long damn way from bein’ a killer.”
        “You didn’t see his eyes this afternoon,” Carlyle said.
        “We killed his little girl. How do you think he’d look?” Griff said.
        “So we wait?” Kittredge said.
        “Yes,” Griff said, “we just wait and see what happens.”
        “Shit,” Carlyle said, and pulled away from the two men, wobbling drunkenly over to a huge elm tree. In the darkness they could hear him splashing piss against the tree.
        “He’s gets crazier the older he gets,” Kittredge said.
        Griff nodded. “The way I see it, we’ve got two problems.”
        “Two?”
        “Ryan and Carlyle. Either one of them could do something crazy. Damn crazy.”
        Kittredge sighed. “My stomach’s in knots. I couldn’t eat tonight.”
        “We’ll keep an eye on him,” Griff said, “and we’ll be alright.”
        But he couldn’t muster much conviction in his voice. All he could do was just stand there and watch Carlyle come wobbling back, zipping up his pants as he moved through the grass.
        Griff just wanted to be home in bed with his wife and have his daughters come laughing in just after dawn, ready for a new day. But he had the terrible feeling that that simple pleasure was beyond him now. Maybe forever.
        “I still want a god damn vote on the subject,” Carlyle said as he swerved up to the two men.
        Which was when Griff slapped him hard across the mouth. Slapped him as hard as he could, hard enough to knock him to his knees.
        “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” Kittredge said, sounding tense.
        Griff nodded. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.”
        “You sonofabitch, you sonofabitch,” Carlyle said, furious but drunk enough that he could not get easily to his feet. “You sonofabitch.”
        Griff walked away from the other two men. He went over and stood by the dam, the silver foaming water falling in the mosquito-thick night air. Thirty years ago, the boy he’d been had stood here all filled with great unbounded hope. How could he have known that all these long years later he would be standing here, the killer of a little girl, and the little girl’s father come to pay him back?
        He shook his head and stared with great sorrow at the roaring, tumbling water.
        Then he went back to tell Carlyle he was sorry for slapping him.
        

4
        
        James did the most unlikely thing of all, fell asleep just after he finished making love to the girl. Several glasses of wine had made him drowsy. The girl had let him sleep. She’d felt sorry for him. Not only was this the first time for him, drinking had also led him to talking about his old man. James had gotten teary, telling her how much he’d loved his father; and then he’d fallen asleep. His uncle had paid for two full hours; she was going to let him take advantage of the time even if all it meant was lying next to him thinking about her own parents. Anyway, James was gentle and sweet compared to the coarse men she was used to. Earlier tonight, for instance, a miner hadn’t even let her get lubricated. He’d just pushed in, hurting her. Now, like James, she closed her eyes and dozed.
        The gunshot woke him. He sat straight up in bed, muttering through the mists of sleep and booze. “What happened?” James