Free Garbage by Stephen Dixon Page B

anyone you’ve accused so far, then for your own sake, and I say this with all my professional expertise and individual sincerity, don’t you think it’d be wise to maybe see a psychiatrist?”
    â€œThanks very much, but didn’t the police look in the man’s wallet for my note?”
    â€œNote? Hold it. Maybe I’m the one losing my memory now.”
    â€œThe note, my note. Under the phone shelf. I told the police he—”
    â€œOh yeah. Now how could they? He wasn’t the one brought in and arraigned.”
    â€œBut they looked for his name and address, didn’t they? Since my note was the only thing in his wallet besides money, because I looked in it myself, they had to have seen it.”
    â€œEven if you didn’t put the note in and they did find it, which I’m only being hypothetical for argument’s sake about, it would most likely be classified as illegal evidence because the note wasn’t what they would have been legally searching for.”
    â€œIf they found a loaded gun in his wallet while they were only searching for his address, would that be illegal evidence too?”
    â€œThen they might have questioned him, though maybe only to find out how he was able to fit a gun in his wallet—do you get what I mean?”
    â€œExcuse me, but can I check out of here when I want?”
    â€œAccording to the call before, they’re not holding you for anything anymore and you don’t seem to have a serious concussion the way you’re now making noise, so I think so—of course. But why leave when you can stay a few more days courtesy of the city before they transfer you to a paying hospital, especially with the state of your head. I didn’t mention that they said you’ll have a permanent deep dent there around the metal plate, which is just how bad the blow was.”
    â€œBecause I won’t feel safe anyplace but in my bar or hotel room. There I got my own locks and regular grounds and my own form of weapons if I want. Here, who knows what can happen. Another pipe at night. Dent in a dent perhaps where I’ll end up with a tin helmet for a head, or maybe something in my food. Sure, by your look I can tell I must sound to you like I feel way overpersecuted. And whatever I say after it to explain why I’ve these fears will make me sound even more so till they think I’m too crazy to go home, so why even stay here and risk being tossed in a mental ward?”
    â€œIf you insist, nobody can stop you, not that I like you roaming around outside with your head in such physical shape. Though if you do leave and need a lawyer for future advice on these matters I’m not saying you don’t legitimately fear, I do have a private practice too. This should be confidential between us if you don’t mind. I’m not by city law allowed to take for money one of the defendants I was initially appointed by the court to defend for free, even after the charges against him are dropped, and my fees compared to lawyers of much less caliber and human sympathy are relatively cheap. Here’s my card.” She takes one from her briefcase and puts it in my hand. “Maybe you’ll forget it’s there, though your attention span seems to be progressing by the second,” and she opens a sidetable drawer. The whistler says “Hey, lady, what are you doing in my things?” and she says “Sorry,” goes around my bed and opens what I suppose is my drawer, takes out my wallet, says “Mind?” and sticks the card in. “One positive thing I can probably do for you now is get your nurse,” and she touches my finger and goes.
    â€œWait!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAdvice. What do I legally do if Stovin’s group comes at me again?”
    â€œWhy should they? If what you say is true, then they gave you your lumps. If what you say isn’t, then what’s to worry about?” and she