walking. Checked everywhere except under his arm.
“Under your arm,” Corso said.
The kid looked like he was surprised to find a book tucked away in his armpit.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s…ah…”He pulled the book out and glanced at the cover. “I’ve read all your books, Mr. Corso.” He held out a copy of Missing Lync, Corso’s second book. “ Lync is my favorite,” the kid blurted.
“And you want me to sign it?”
“If you…I mean…I brought it, but then it didn’t seem…”
“No problem,” Corso said quickly. “Give it here.”
Corso set the book on the bed and retrieved his pen from his journal. “Can I personalize it?”
The kid looked bewildered. “Excuse me?”
“You want me to put your name in it?” Corso asked.
The young face brightened up. “If it wouldn’t be too much—”
“That’s Craig with a C ?”
The kid covered the embroidered name with his hand. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m Michael. I borrowed the jacket…from…mine had a…”
Corso scribbled in the book and held it out. “Here you go, Michael.”
Michael used two hands to hold the book against his chest. “Thank you,” he said, backing toward the door. “If there’s anything else we can…Hertz is always…”
“You’ve already gone beyond the call of duty,” Corso assured him.
The kid’s expression said he thought so too. He nodded and smiled his way back into the hall. The door silently closed behind him. Then opened again. The kid stuck his spiky head back in the door. “Er…Mr. Corso, sir…my supervisor…Craig Mason…he wanted me to ask you if maybe you couldn’t be”—he winced—“you know…be a little…a little…”
“He wants me to try and not crash this one.”
“Something like that. Yes, sir.”
“Tell him I’ll do the best I can.”
The door had only been closed for a moment when the sheriff pushed her way into the room, followed by a pair of cowboys in matching beige suits. Each man held a dark brown stocking cap in one hand and a Stetson hat in the other. The sheriff made a rueful face. “Mr. Corso, these gentlemen are from the Dallas County Sheriff’s Office. This is Officer Duckett,” she said, indicating the older of the two, a slitty-eyed specimen who looked like he’d spent a lot of time squinting out over the prairie. “And Officer Caruth,” who was under thirty, wide-eyed, and looked like this was as far from home as he’d ever been. “As soon as the doctors say it’s all right for you to travel, these gentlemen are here to take you back to Texas. On a material-witness warrant.”
Corso went back to writing. Somebody cleared their throat. “Well then…” the sheriff stammered. “I’ll let you gentlemen know when Mr. Corso here’s cleared for takeoff.” The cowboys issued a couple of thank-yous and reluctantly shuffled from the room. Once they were gone, Sheriff Trask stood for a moment, hands on hips, breathing deeply, looking around the walls. “What’s with them and those hats?” she asked finally. “You’d think they’d leave the damn things back in the motel room instead of carrying them around with ’em all day.”
“It’s a Texas thing,” Corso offered. “You gotta spend some time there to understand.”
She shook her head and grinned. “You want the bad news, the worse news, or the worst yet news?” she asked affably.
“You mean…other than the cavalry there.”
“Yeah.”
He finished writing a sentence and then looked up again. “Let’s start with the bad. That way I’ll have something to look forward to.”
“You’ve drawn quite a crowd, Mr. Corso. We got every damn news agency in the world down in the lobby, wanting to talk to you”—she waved a disgusted hand—“…or me, or anybody else they can get to say anything at all. It’s taking every deputy I own just to keep them pinned downstairs.” She gestured toward the TV. “Don’t matter what channel. Turn it on and there’s some old picture of
Learning to Kill: Stories