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The old man jammed his hands down in his pockets and turned his back on Miller. He stared out at the ominous cauldron of clouds boiling up out of the sea to the east. It was several minutes before he responded. When he did, it was with a quiet defiance that Bart had never heard in the old man's voice before. |
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"He had it comin', ya know." Then, as if he suddenly remembered they were talking about another human being, he asked, "How is he?" |
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"Dead," Miller heard himself say. It all sounded too matter-of-fact, like he was calling balls and strikes in a softball game down at Burson Park. "I got a call from the Brownsville police chief early this morning. He died after he got out of surgery." |
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"Pretty tough to dig one of them slugs out of the brain," Pasquel acknowledged. "I usually hit what I'm aimin' at." |
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Miller nodded. Ernie Laws, Red's night deputy, had given him the gruesome details which were probably somewhat embellished, because Laws liked that sort of thing. "What happened?" |
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The old man wearily lowered himself down on the gunnel of his beached skiff. "You know what I'm gonna tell ya," Pasquel began. "That it wasn't my fault, and it wasn't. I was mindin' my own business, havin' a drink. The place was crowded. All of a sudden this little wet- |
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