Dead Man Walker by Duffy Brown Read Free Book Online Page A

heart kicked back up and I promised the Lord he’d see my sorry white butt in church on Sunday. Thank you, Jesus!
    An elderly man helped me sit up, a young guy helped Reagan.
    â€œI tell you,” the elderly gentleman said to the gathering crowd, “the tourists drive like maniacs in this city. None of ’em know how to go around these squares without killing someone. Bet they’re all Yankees. Are you okay, mister?” he asked me.
    Reagan had a scrape on her arm and one on her leg and her blouse had a tear, but that was it. We started for the car, Reagan moving a little slow and me about the same. “Are you sure you’re okay,” I asked her.
    â€œI landed on Old Yeller.”
    â€œThe book?”
    â€œThe purse.”
    She slid it off her arm and we inspected it together. “Not a scratch anywhere,” I said. “What’s this purse made of?”
    â€œLuck.”
    I sat Reagan in the Chevy, then climbed behind the wheel and turned over the motor. “That was no tourist,” Reagan said in a low. quiet voice as I backed out onto Barnard Street.
    â€œI know.” I stopped for the pedestrians in the crosswalk. “I think I might have ruffled a few feathers.”
    Reagan put her hand on my arm. “Lawyer boy, I’d say you did something and wound up plucking the whole darn bird. What is this all about?”
    â€œMercedes? Conway? I’m not sure.” And that was the truth.
    When we got to the Cherry House, the official name of Reagan’s Victorian because of the big cherry tree in the front yard, customers were strolling up the sidewalk to shop as Bruce Willis galloped down. He leaped into the car, tail wagging, licking my face and making me feel like a million bucks as only dogs can.
    I got a
be careful
speech from Reagan, the kind I usually gave to her then I backtracked to the office. I parked Chevy and found Big Joey sitting on the steps with a nondescript white plastic bag in front of him. I sat on the next step, barely squelching a groan. “Tricks ’cue?”
    â€œGot that right.” Big Joey opened the bag and pulled out two Cokes and two Styrofoam containers from Tricks. Without looking I knew they each held a half-slab of ribs and chicken smothered in the best barbecue sauce on the plant, potato salad, beans with little chunks of ham, and a dinner roll.
    â€œYou’re bleeding,” Big Joey said around a mouthful of rib. He nodded at my shirt, a red stain on the side.
    â€œNot as much as I could be.” I chomped into the chicken, little dots of sublime ecstasy dancing in front of my eyes. “Reagan called you.” It wasn’t a question.
    â€œSomethin’ about you skinning a bird and tire marks.” Big Joey took a long draw of his Coke. “What’s going down . . . besides you?” A grin slid across his lips covered in sauce.
    â€œFunny boy.” I grinned back. “This all started with Mercedes but it’s gotten real personal real quick and somehow it’s tied to me and Conway kicking the bucket.”
    Big Joey took a sporkful of green beans. “Think this be the part where I say ‘told ya so.’”
    I tore into a rib, the sauce dripping off my fingers like all great ’cue does. “A guy owed Conway money,” I said. “And he knows I’m on to him. He’s got good reason to get rid of both of us but he’s got company in that department. Two sisters want Mercedes to housekeep for them. Me and Conway out at Bonaventure Cemetery opens two cleaning spots for them with Mercedes.”
    Big Joey let out a deep laugh that came all the way from his toes and seemed to rumble clear up the steps. “That be the Gold Diggers. Gotta watch your back with those two if they got you in their sights.” He took a bite of potato salad. “Could be you getting mowed down and Mr. C dead in the tub not connected? He got stuff going on, you got