Dutch Shea, Jr by John Gregory Dunne

Author:John Gregory Dunne
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781939126207
Publisher: Zola Books
Published: 2013-08-12T00:00:00+00:00

BOOK THREE

Inadmissible Evidence,

Sustained Objections,

Structured Settings,

Random Thoughts et cetera

Remembered The Instant Before Death

I

1. BEAUBOIS, Robert NMI. Why does he remind me of IGOE, Byron III? Little By. Son of Big By. Who humped my wife. Jumped my wife. Bumped and pumped my wife. Little By. Who needs a father. Son of Elaine. Who needs a husband. To hump and jump and bump and pump. Elaine of the three-million-dollar portfolio. Three. Million. Dollars. Clams. Potatoes. Smackeroos. Three million reasons to become the father of Little By. Who reminds me of BEAUBOIS, Robert NMI. Why By? The neck, that’s why. The acne. A mountain range of eruptions and oozing car­buncles. Wonderful word, carbuncle. One of the best. Next to smegma, the ugliest in the language. Smegma has carbuncle beat by a car length.

BEAUBOIS, Robert NMI, fingered a boil on his neck, testing its readiness for squeezing. “I don’t like it here.”

“Why not?” Dutch Shea, Jr., said. He breathed through his mouth. Force of habit. The smell in the county jail always made him retch. “It’s safe, the locks are terrific, the security’s good, nobody breaks in.” Ho, ho, old joke. Only the defendants are new. The crimi­ nal lawyer as terminal cynic.

Ho.

Ho.

“They shit in the stew at dinner.”

“Who?”

“The PRs.”

“Why?”

“Because the niggers pissed in the soup at lunch.”

“That explains it, then.”

The boil exploded and a missile of pus splattered against the plastic cubicle divider. Beaubois patted the bleeding cavity with a clean white monogrammed linen handkerchief.

“Expensive handkerchief.”

“I sucked someone’s cock for it.”

So much for small talk. “I guess you don’t want a single cell, then?”

Beaubois laughed. “I can take care of myself.”

“You’ve had enough practice,” Dutch Shea, Jr., said. “I’ve looked at your record.”

“This is a bum rap.”

“You confessed.” Dutch Shea stared at the ceiling of the interrogation room. Dried excrement was caked to the plaster. Someone had drawn a penis entering the shit. He wondered how the artist had got up there. A new dimension to climbing the walls. “In writing. Signed.”

“What was I supposed to do after ten hours? They didn’t even let me take a piss.”

“You also flunked the lie detector test.”

Beaubois’s fingers searched his neck for another ripe zit. “Wow.”

Dutch Shea waited for a moment. Then: “That’s it? Wow?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” “I mean, all the time I was taking it, the guy giving it to me, the operator guy, I mean, he had me looking at this picture of that hotel. When it was burning, I mean. He let me feel it, the picture, run my fingers over it ...”

A role model for Little By. “And it turned you on.”

“Yeah. Shit, yeah.”

A deep breath. This was one to make you shiver. “I suppose I can get behind that.”

“But I did not set this one.”

“Honest Injun?”

“I didn’t.”

“So let’s hear your story.”

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