No Man's Dog by Jon A. Jackson Read Free Book Online Page B

fine. She’s getting on. Anyways, thanks for doing that, for Charles. And Ma.”
    They stood there, not looking at each other, just taking in the view. “Man, this is really something,” Caspar said. “I got to hand it to you, Joe. You done good. You doin’ all right?” He glanced at Joe, a little concerned. “I mean . . . I can see you’re doin’ all right . . . but everything going okay?”
    â€œYeah, sure. I’m retired now, you know.”
    â€œAh. That’s good. Me, I got to be looking for work. You get out, after all this time. . . . I tell you, Joe, the world is so differentnow. Everything is changed. I guess I’ll look up some guys, but . . . hell, I’m not even sure where to start.”
    â€œHey, what am I thinking?” Joe said. “Look, I got plenty. You need something to tide you over? No, really, I mean it. I got too much. I can help you out. You’ll pay me back later. When you get back on your feet.”
    Caspar looked almost embarrassed, but he didn’t show much emotion. “Thanks, I appreciate that,” he said. “I’ll pay you back. You know that.”
    â€œWe’ll figure something out,” Joe said. “Would a couple grand do you? You think so? I could spring for more, if you need it.”
    â€œNo. A couple grand is terrific, Joe. I’d appreciate it. Everything’s so much more expensive now. But, listen,” he turned away from the river and leaned a bit closer, as if to avoid being overheard, although only the dogs could have heard him, and the wind rippling across the grass. “I don’t want you to think I just come by to borrow money, Joe. I wanted to thank you for Charles, and I done that. And I’ll pay you back for that . . . and the two grand. You know that.”
    â€œI know that,” Joe said. “What is it?” He could tell that something was bothering Caspar, something else. “Tell me.”
    â€œI heard something that you ought to know,” Caspar said. “I couldn’t go home without finding you and telling you. That’s why I stuck around so long. I been out for a week. I was beginning to wonder if I would find you.”
    â€œSomething you learned inside?”
    â€œYeah.” Caspar looked around, then leaned closer. “There’s some heavy guys looking for you, Joe. If I found you, they’ll find you. You need to keep your eyes open. They ain’t looking to give you the lottery winnings, or nothing.”
    â€œWho are they?”
    â€œSome kind of heat. Foreign heat. I got a couple of names. One of ‘em’s some kind of Spanish guy—Echeverria.”

3
    Sniff
    F or a change, Mulheisen played some jazz while he read one of Robert Louis Stevenson’s stories to his mother. He had an idea that she would like Stevenson because the story was not so modern. Her situation was a peculiarly modern, contemporary one, it seemed to him, and so an old story of the nineteenth century, about people cast away on South Sea islands might be better, somehow, less threatening, perhaps more soothing . . . balmy islands . . . balm . . . healing. Of course, it was true that he had, himself, a kind of nostalgic taste for Stevenson.
    The music he chose was a collection of Gershwin tunes, played by the cornetist Ruby Braff, accompanied by the guitarist George Barnes. Very mellow, lightly swinging stuff. When he noticed that his mother was nodding, he stopped and helped her to her bed. She was quite docile. But as he tucked her in he was suddenly electrified to see that she was looking at him intently. He started to say something, but stopped when he saw her lips move.
    He lowered his head to hear her. She seemed to be singing! It was just a very, very faint sound, with no more than a hint of musicality, a whisper with a lilt.
    “It’s very clear,” she sang, “our love is here . . . to stay.”
    It was one of the tunes from the CD