Rockinghorse by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online Page A

city opinion—that it had been a silly, rash thing to do. “I’m sorry I did it, Jim.”
    Jim shook his head. “Don’t be, Lucas. This ain’t the city. What you did was establish who is boss right off the bat, and with somebody like Lige, that’s important. You probably won’t have a minute’s worth of trouble out of him from now on.”
    â€œI would have preferred a written agreement,” Lucas said drily.
    â€œA handshake is still more important to country folks, Lucas. It’s changed some over the years, but a man’s word is still his bond in many parts of the country. But,” he held up a warning finger, “white trash don’t pay no mind to gentlemen’s agreements, Lucas. And that’s all Lige is, trash.”
    â€œI have heard the expression,” Lucas said, his ingrained New York City liberalism sending creeping doubt into his voice.
    Jim laughed at him. “I know where you’re coming from, Lucas, Believe me.”
    Jim bought them both Cokes and they sat outside on a bench in front of the station. Jim propped his cowboy boots up on a railing. “Country folks, Lucas, especially Southern country folks, don’t think like big-city folks. Especially Northern big-city folks; especially New York City folks, I know. I lived in New York City for a spell.”
    â€œYou what?”
    Jim got a big laugh at the amazement in his new friend’s voice. “Oh, yeah. I graduated from college with a degree in business and a minor in advertising. Went to work for an agency in Atlanta. They discovered I had a flair more for advertising than for business. They moved me to L.A., and from there I went to New York City. Stayed four years in the Big Apple. I made big money, joined up with the ‘right people,’ ran with the ‘in crowd,’ got me an ulcer, and got mugged twice. The last time I whipped the livin’ daylights out of that punk; stomped his face in and kicked his balls up into his belly. The goddamn cops arrested me and the goddamn punk—who had a knife, by the way—sued me for damages. And won! I knew—I knew all along—that a country boy ain’t got no business livin’ in the big city. We think different. I told my wife—she was a city girl—we was pullin’ out, heading’ back to the country. She told me to take off, that she was stayin’. I said fine and pulled out back to the south. Ain’t seen hide nor hair of her since then.”
    â€œExcept for a word or two from her lawyer,” Lucas said with a grin.
    â€œHow true are your words.”
    â€œHow long ago was that?”
    â€œNineteen hundred and seventy, ol’ buddy.”
    â€œThen you wouldn’t know anything about Lige Manning? ”
    â€œOh, I was born on a farm about twenty miles from here, Lucas. My parents died when I was just a kid.”
    â€œWe have that in common.”
    â€œOh? How old were you?”
    â€œSixteen.”
    â€œI was a little younger. Anyway, I know about Lige. I know things even the cops can’t find out. Lige was in the army for a time, but they kicked him out. He don’t deny it. He didn’t come back here ’til his daddy passed. Didn’t hardly nobody remember him—so I’m told. I was gone by then. He’s not a bad one, Lucas, Not bad in that he’s never killed anybody. But he’s a sneak thief. Just can’t nobody prove it. And he’s a window peeper. You keep that in mind. Collects all sort of filthy books and pictures, too. So I’m told. Lots of folks suspect he’s messed with some kids—but that was a long time back. He mostly just stays by himself and don’t mess with nobody no more. I guess that has to do with the town changin’ some.”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œWell, nothin’ a man can put his finger right on. Subtle changes. Town went from solid Baptist to