Son of Fletch by Gregory McDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

radio?”
    “Someone playing the guitar.”
    “Who?”
    “Jack.”
    “Jack!” she expostulated. “You call his name just as if he’s someone you know.”
    “I’m getting to know him,” Fletch said. “A little bit.”
    They listened to the acoustic guitar being played downstairs.
    Carrie said, “He plays beautifully.”
    “So he does.”
    “Still,” Carrie said, uncertainly. “I think you ought to call the sheriff and have them all picked up. Including your
Jack
. If he shot at a cop, he needs nothin’ more than bein’ put in a pit with fire ants.” She was looking across the bed at the telephone.
    “By the way,” Fletch said. “The phones are dead. They cut the wires.”
    “I didn’t think they came here to cook, clean, and paint fences. Does your cellular phone work?”
    “Yes. But I don’t want them to know I have it. I want to get these guys out of here before the telephone company discovers the wires have been cut. I told Will and Michael last night I’m driving Jack to the University of North Alabama this morning.”
    “They saw him? They met him?”
    “They even talked with him. He was as smooth as a Mississippi River stone. Michael even invited him fishing.”
    “You passed him off as
your son?”
    “I sweet-talked ‘em. A little.”
    “So you’re stuck, aren’t you. You’re as stuck as the smile on a beauty queen’s face.”
    “Except I gave Jack the .32. So he can hold us captive. If the cops come back.”
    “Say what?” Wide-eyed, she was looking down at him sitting cross-legged on the bed. “You done real good,
    Fletch. You’ve brought fugitive felons, murderers and suchlike, into this house, and armed them! Against ourselves! Against the cops! When you came into this room, didn’t I ask you if everything was all right?”
    “And I said,
All things being relative.”
    “That was a joke?” In fact, Carrie did smile.
    “Carrie, this kid wants something from me. How do I know what to believe? How do you know what to believe?”
    “He wants you to save his ass.”
    “Maybe. I think it’s worth stringing him along a little, extending myself, to find out what, why.”
    Picking her fingers, listening to the guitar, Carrie said, “You’re always playing, Fletch. You still think you can handle anything. Everything.”
    “No. In fact, I don’t. There are just things here that don’t add up. I want to know why.”
    Looking through the window again, Carrie said, “If we’re gonna give these felons breakfast, we’ll need the eggs from the henhouse.”
    “I’ll get them!” Fletch sprang off the bed. “I allus obeys Ms. Carrie.”

6
    A
ha! Now I see!”
Shiny clean, even unto his eyeglasses, his soft body encased in a guest bathrobe, Kriegel exclaimed when Fletch entered the study. The man had a saddle-shaped birthmark on the bridge of his nose. “Come here!” he said to Fletch grandly.
    Fletch stayed where he was.
    Behind Kriegel, Jack was standing stiffly.
    Kriegel came to Fletch. With both hands, he fingered Fletch’s head. He stood on tiptoes to do so. He walked around Fletch, looking him up and down. “You are Jack’s father!”
    “You’re a phrenologist?” Fletch asked. He frowned at Jack.
    “You have the same bones! The same blood!”
    “You’re a nut?” Fletch asked.
    Turning, Kriegel went to Jack and clasped him by the shoulders. “This man is your father! Why didn’t you tell me? He is one of us! We are saved!”
    “Praise the Lord,” Fletch said.
    “Introduce me,” Kriegel ordered Jack.
    “Father,” Jack said, standing at attention. “This is The Reverend Doctor Kris Kriegel!” For an instant, Jack put his hand to his mouth. “Doctor Kriegel, this is my father, Irwin Maurice Fletcher!”
    Kriegel said, “I’m so pleased.”
    Fletch said, “Charmed, I’m sure.”
    Fletch saw that Kriegel, for all his role-playing as an emperor, or whatever, was fighting hard to stay awake. He was intoxicated with exhaustion. His arms and legs moved