The Nothing Man by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page B

dollars and a few hundred hours work had made it reasonably habitable. It is a little noisy, perhaps, since it sits on railroad right-of-way, and it is more than a little sooty. But as rental properties go in Pacific City-properties within the financial reach of the modestsalaried man-it is still very much a bargain. We do not believe in "government handouts" here, you see. We scorn socialistic housing programs. We hold to the American way of life, the good old laws of supply and demand. That is, the landlords supply what they care to in the way of housing and demand what they feel like. And the tenant, bless him, oh, hail his rugged independence, is perfectly free to pay it and like it. Or sleep in the streets. Where, of course, he will be promptly arrested by Lem Stukey for vagrancy.
    I will say this for Stukey: he is absolutely fearless and relentless where vagrants are concerned. Let Lem and his minions apprehend some penniless wanderer, preferably colored and over sixty-five, and the machinery of the law goes into swift and remorseless action. Sixty days on the road gang, six months on the county farm-so it goes. Nor is that always as far as it goes. In an amazing number of instances, the vagrant appears to be the very person responsible for a long series of hitherto unsolved crimes..
    Good old Lem and his rubber hose! Unless I missed my guess, I'd be seeing him shortly.
    I parked my car at the side of the house and went inside. I filled a water glass with whisky and put it down at a gulp. Fire blazed through me. My heart did frantic setting-up exercises for a moment, then steadied off into a slow, steady pounding. All at once I felt almost happy. For the first time in a long time, life seemed really interesting. There was a rift-and a widening one-in the dead-gray monotony of existence.
    I went into the bedroom and shucked out of my clothes. The phone rang and I trotted back into the living-room to answer it, pulling a robe around me.
    "Brownie-Clint?" It was Dave Randall.
    "Why, Colonel," I said. "How nice of you to call! How are all the wee ones and-"
    "Brownie, for God's sake! Have you seen Lem Stukey?"
    "Frequently," I said. "As a devoted Courier man, I am brought into contact with many strange-"
    "Please, Brownie! He hasn't been in touch with you in the last hour or so?"
    "No"-I put a frown into my voice-"what's up, Dave?"
    "It's about-Where have you been all evening, Clint? Lem's been tearing up the town to find you. He called me. He even called Mr. Lovelace."
    "But why? What about?"
    I smiled to myself. It was wonderful to be interested again.
    "I-I think I'd better come out there, Brownie. I think, perhaps, I'd better bring Mr. Lovelace with me."
    "Oh?" I said, and I made the voice-frown a little stronger. "What's the trouble, Dave?"
    "I can't-I think I'd better tell you in person. Brownie-"
    "Yes?"
    "Where have you been tonight?"
    "Drinking. Riding and drinking. Walking and drinking. Sitting by the roadside and drinking."
    "Were you with anyone? Is there any way you could establish your whereabouts?"
    "No," I said, "to both questions… Look, Dave, I didn't run over anyone, did I? I was pretty woozy, but-"
    "I'll see you," he said. "I'll be right out."
    We hung up. I sat down on the lounge and went to work on the bottle. I was feeling better and better. There was nothing in my stomach but this clean, fresh whisky, and there was nothing in my mind but a problem. No Ellen. No oblong of bright-blue flame. Only an interesting problem.
    About ten minutes had passed when a car roared up the lane from the highway and skidded to a stop in the yard. It was Lem Stukey, and he was by himself. Naturally, on anything as good as this, he would be by himself. I looked up as he walked in. I blinked my eyes, frowned, and took another drink from the bottle.
    He stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his hat thrust back on his oily head. And there was an expression of sad reproach on his sleek, round face.
    He waited for me