Leaning Land by Rex Burns Read Free Book Online Page B

don’t you tell me how I ought to feel about doing my job. I do my job. I take the county’s money and I do my job. You want to listen to what them goddamn federal people tell you, you go ahead. But don’t you or anybody else tell me what my job is.” He squared his hat on his head, its wide brim shading his flushed face from the now-bright fluorescent lights overhead. “Been nice talking to you.”
    Through the glass, Wager watched Morris’s dim shadow rapidly cross the pale gravel, saw the lights of the deputy’s car flick on, and watched the red taillights pull hotly onto the highway and turn right toward Egnarville.
    “More coffee, sir?” Paula, silent on her crepe-soled waitress shoes, stood at his elbow with her glass bowl of coffee. As Wager held up his cup, her soft voice asked, “You’re from Denver, ain’t you?”
    “Yeah.” Wager, still thinking of Morris and his defensive anger, cleared his throat and tried to make his voice into something polite. “You been there?”
    “No, not yet. I’d like to, though.” A quick frown pulled her eyebrows together. “It’s not as big as Los Angeles, is it?”
    “No. You like Los Angeles?”
    “Never been there, either. I just seen pictures of it. And on TV.” She added shyly, “I’ve never been much of anyplace except here.”
    “It’s nice here,” said Wager. “Nice scenery, relaxing.”
    “Yessir. But I been here all my life.” There was another question she apparently had planned to ask, “Can you get work there? You know, like a waitress?”
    “Sure.” He paid closer attention to her, now. “But you won’t earn much. And it’s still a big place. It could be pretty scary without any family or friends around.”
    She considered that while she wiped the lip of the coffeepot with a cloth. Then she glanced toward the cashier’s stand. “If you want to register, Verdie’s there now.”
    “OK. How late is your kitchen open?”
    “Nine.”
    “I’ll be back before then.”

CHAPTER 5
    T HE BRIGHT SUN , a hard yellow against his room’s drawn roller shade, woke him, and he lay a few moments in the strange bed. The still air brought the stale smell of old cigarette smoke from the worn carpet and faded drapes, the raucous squawk of a magpie somewhere outside, the murmur of a single car passing slowly on the highway.
    Liz had been glad to hear his voice last night, and he was just as glad he had remembered to call her and let her know he’d arrived all right and where he was staying. They really hadn’t had much to say to each other that was important—Wager told her he was meeting with local law officers and she told him about Committee Chairman McGraw’s latest ploy, sponsoring a bill that would exempt United Airlines and the Broncos, Nuggets, and Rockies from paying city property taxes. “He claims they earn enough for the city in sales, seat, and occupation taxes, as well as bringing in out-of-town customers. He said it’s unfair to expect them to pay property taxes, too.”
    “Everyone else pays their share, including stores and movies that collect sales and seat taxes and bring in visitors.”
    “You know it and I know it. But McGraw wants to give his rich friends a little more. He says if they make more, they’ll invest more in Denver—the old trickle-down theory.”
    That had been the kind of things they’d talked about, but it wasn’t exactly all that their words told each other. He could hear it in her voice as they spoke: the shift from an early brisk tension to a lower, more relaxed, and intimate tone, so that when they finally said good-bye, it was as if they had really been saying how glad they were to listen to each other regardless of the topic. And when she told Wager that she missed him, his answer was just as simple, and as sincere—”I miss you, too.” Neither used the word “love,” but he guessed that was what they’d meant.
    Propped against the hard pillows, he let out a long, slow breath. Liz and his