The Criminal by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

every time you turn around you never get anything done. All I know is that I wanted to buy him a present, so instead of going on to school I cut back to the canyon and started for the golf course. That was all there was to it.
    I went down the side of the canyon, and walked up that little creek that runs right through the center of it until I came to the railroad trestle. Then, I reached up and got ahold of a brace and started to swing across. Well, it wasn't my fault because, heck, I reckon I must have done the same thing a hundred times, and I bet I could do it in my sleep if I had to. But some way or another-well, maybe the dew had made it slick-my hand slipped; and I threw myself back real fast, but one foot went into the water clear up to my ankle.
    Well, I kind of cussed, and then I laughed about it, because the way I was feeling, it would take a lot more than that to make me sore. Dad had been so nice and everything, and I was going to buy him a nice little present. And if everything went all right, well, I'd kind of have a little talk with him like we'd used to have. I'd get all the load off my mind about laying out of school and everything else I'd been doing, and he'd say, well, son, it's never too late to turn over a new leaf and I know you're going to do better from now on, and… Well, that's the way it would be. I could get out from under that load, and, boy, it was a load!
    I took my shoe off, and shook the water out of it. Then, I wrung my sock out and hung it up on a bush to dry. I had plenty of time. I could make it to the golf course in an hour, easy; get in twenty-seven or maybe thirty-six holes if I got the breaks.
    I hoped this wouldn't be one of those crummy days when there were maybe eighty-four caddies for every bag, and I thought, by gosh, it better not be. Not today, by golly. But I was feeling too good to worry about it.
    I lay back on my back with my eyes closed, kind of daydreaming about how I was going to do and how things were going to be from now on. And I thought I heard something behind me, a kind of rustling and a twig cracking now and then, but I didn't pay any attention to it. I didn't have any idea she was within a million miles of me until she started running her fingers through my hair.
    I jumped and sat up. She laughed, her head kind of cocked on one side. She was right up against me, almost; stooped down on her knees. I had to move away before I could sit up good.
    "What the heck are you doing here?" I said. "Why aren't you in school?"
    "I've got a cold," she said. "Why aren't you in school?"
    "I suppose you're going to tell," I said. "Well, go ahead and see if I care."
    "Huh-uh." She shook her head. "I wouldn't tell on you, Bobbie, no matter what you did."
    "Well, go ahead," I said. "It don't make any difference to me what you do."
    I reached up and got my sock off the bush. It felt pretty dry, so I started to put it on. She took it out of my hand- not snatching, or anything, but just sort of gentle and natural like-and hung it back up again.
    "You want to catch cold, mmm?" she said. "Now, you just leave that right there until I tell you to put it on."
    "Aw, heck," I said. "What do you care? Who asked you to come down here tellin' me what to do?"
    "Well, it's a very good thing for you, I did," she said. "You certainly need someone to look after you."
    I said she was crazy, just about a hundred times crazier'n any two people in the whole world. "I'll bet your mother doesn't know where you are. I'll bet you slipped off without telling her anything."
    "I'll bet she doesn't know I copped her cigarettes, either," she nodded. "You want a cigarette, Bobbie?"
    She had on some kind of funny looking shorts, not real short, you know, but the kind girls wear to ride bicycles and stuff like that. She had on that-them-and one of those tight goofy-looking blouses like her mother's always wearing, and a little button-up sweater that was kind of like her mother's, too. She had the sweater hung