King of the Corner by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page B

changing your employment?”
    “Yes.” Doc didn’t elaborate. If his time in prison had taught him anything it had taught him never to volunteer information.
    “Are you unhappy at the farm dealership?”
    “No, it’s okay.”
    “Maynard Ance is well-known around here. He skates the edge of the law. Working for him wouldn’t be in your best interest.”
    “Is it a violation?” Before coming in that morning, Doc had called the office to report last night’s adventure and his decision to accept Ance’s offer. He hadn’t mentioned he was driving a cab.
    Kubitski sucked on his pipe. The gurgling made Doc think of a rain gutter. “How are things at home?”
    “Okay.”
    “But?”
    “Everything’s fine.”
    “Oh, come on. A grown man, forced to live with his brother and his brother’s family? I’d have gone berserk with a chainsaw before this.”
    Doc saw he was going to have to give Kubitski what he wanted. He sat back as far as the straight chair allowed. “I had friends in Jackson I knew better than Neal. I was just a kid the last time we lived under the same roof. He’s still got the first job he ever had. We don’t exactly speak the same language.”
    “What about the others”—the parole officer glanced down at the file—“Wilhelmina and little Sean?”
    “Billie’s great. I don’t remember my mother that well but she was a lot like my sister-in-law, warm but tough.”
    “But?”
    “She think’s baseball’s what got me in trouble. Maybe she’s right, but not in the way she thinks. I think that has something to do with why she’s turning her boy into a carrot. All the kid does is watch TV and play video games. He’s getting to look like eighty pounds of pork.”
    “And you’ve argued with her about this.”
    “No. He’s not my son.”
    “But?”
    Kubitski’s but was getting on his nerves. “I take a lot of walks.”
    “Going to work for Maynard Ance at all hours must seem like a nice change.”
    “I’m going to work for him because he offered me more than I’ve been getting.”
    “Enough to move?”
    Doc hadn’t expected him to catch on so quickly. “I’ll just be driving him around. Is it illegal?”
    “No more than operating a taxi cab under someone else’s license.” Kubitski unhooked his glasses to catch the other’s reaction. “I work at this job, Doc. I don’t play at it. A certain kind of parole officer would send you back to serve out your sentence on a complaint like that. He would think you hadn’t learned your lesson.”
    “The only lesson I learned is who to throw out of my parties.”
    He wished immediately he hadn’t said it. Roger Craig had once told him the only thing that would keep him out of the Thirty Game Club was his tendency to rattle when a batter anticipated one of his pitches. The gooseberry eyes glittered dangerously, but after a moment the man behind the desk struck three matches in a clump and relit his tobacco. His pale cheeks billowed and caved in rapidly. He deposited the matches in an ironwood ashtray. “How much did Ance tell you about himself?”
    “Just that he was a lawyer. And something about a job he did down in Tennessee.”
    “Did he mention he was disbarred?”
    “What for?”
    Kubitski puffed. Doc was beginning to realize he didn’t give answers. “He’s a grandstander, a cowboy. Either he doesn’t know how to turn down work or he likes going on these midnight raids to bring back jumpers, because he averages five to the ordinary bail bondsman’s one. If I were you I’d keep on selling manure spreaders. You stand a lot better chance of finishing out your time on the outside.”
    “Does that mean I can take the job?”
    “Just stay behind the wheel.”
    Doc thanked him and left. Heading toward the elevators he thought he might have been less belligerent with Kubitski and to hell with his habits. But he wouldn’t have known how to explain to the parole officer that during his time in the Independence Motel with