The One Dollar Rip-Off (Hardman Book 9) by Ralph Dennis

Author:Ralph Dennis [Dennis, Ralph]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brash Books
Published: 2019-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was a town of churches. It was low and flat land and driving in, approaching Tiflon, I counted thirteen spires and bell towers. There had to be a lot of sin in a town that small to need that many preachers. Or they’d redefined sin to include a number of pleasures that the rest of us thought little about.

Hump was driving. Bill Heffner was in the front seat next to him. I sat in back like the big daddy rich.

The one beer at breakfast hadn’t cured it for Bill. He was raw nervous and, leaning forward now and then, I’d watch one hand claw at his arm or his thigh. Maybe it was a good sign that he wasn’t breaking skin.

The gray double-knit suit Hump had bought him fitted better than I’d thought it would. There’d been no time for alterations. And he smelled good, if not overpowering, because he’d used about a pint of a bottle of Brut that Marcy had given me a Christmas or so before. That was before I’d told her that I’d rather smell an armpit than those men’s perfumes. But Bill seemed pleased with himself. If there was any nervous sweat under that scent it couldn’t get out.

I’d called Van Green at his home number. He’d said he’d clear his law appointments for the day so he’d be free to see us. In fact, he said, he’d be glad to cancel those appointments even if he had any. I suppose that was his way of telling me that he didn’t have much of a practice established yet. I’d heard a young lawyer say one time that it was mostly a matter of waiting until a few of the old lawyers died off.

When I told him my interest in Tiflon, he’d said I was in luck. He was handling a legal matter for a retired army captain named Morris who’d been working at the Citizens and Farmers Bank at the time of the rip-off. He’d call Morris and have him stand by. Morris owed him a favor anyway.

Van’s directions got us to his office without much trouble. Find the front of the courthouse. Drive around the right side of the courthouse, go one half block, and watch for a street that intersected. That was Law Range.

It was a narrow street, still paved with brick. Long flat two-story buildings flanked the street. Lawyers’ signs, about a dozen of them, wagged about in a stiff wind. Van Green’s sign was the newest, the paint not weathered or chipped yet.

Up a dark staircase. The wooden steps were grooved and dished by God knows how many boots and shoes. There were two rooms to the office suite. The front room and its desk for a receptionist were empty. The door to the inner office was cracked an inch or two. As soon as we reached the top of the stairs Van swung that door wide open and whooped and made a run for me.

That was all right. He’d always been impulsive.

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