Wilt in Nowhere by Tom Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page B

place.’
    ‘You ain’t going to believe this. They got Wally Immelmann tagged for a drug

    dealer.’
    The Sheriff stared at him. The man was right. He didn’t believe him.
    ‘Wally into running drugs? You got to be joking! Oh my God, they must be out of their

    fucking heads. If Wally got to hear he was on a fucking dealer suspicion list he’d go

    apeshit. Would he ever. Like we got Mount St Helens volcano right here in Wispoen County

    spewing brimstone. Jesus.’ He stopped and pondered for a moment. ‘What evidence they

    got?’
    ‘The fatso with the four girls. Dogs picked them out at the airport. And Wally is moving

    into pharmaceuticals. It fits.’
    ‘And the woman? Why not hold her for questioning?’
    ‘I don’t know. Wanted to see her contact, I guess. British. Name of Wilt.’
    The Sheriff groaned.
    ‘Where those two goons from, Herb?’ he said presently.
    ‘Unit down Atlanta. They–’
    ‘I got that already. Like, where are they from? What’s their names and their home

    towns?’
    ‘Don’t give no names, Sheriff. Flash their IDs and credentials from Drug Enforcement

    and come to the high and mighty. Those boys in that game don’t have real names. Not good for

    their health, I’ve heard. Got numbers. One’s from New Jersey, that I do know.’
    ‘New Jersey? So how come the Yankee’s doing duty down South? Don’t trust us local

    cops?’
    ‘They don’t do that, and that’s for sure. Wanted to know if Mr Immelmann was a good ole

    boy like it was a dirty word.’
    ‘Said that, did they?’ said the Sheriff grimly. ‘Nice manners these Northern assholes

    have got. Come on down and think they run the place.’
    ‘And the other one…name of Palowski, yeah that’s right. I saw that much. He said Mrs

    Immelmann was so fat she should be into liposuction. Like that was a dirty word too.’
    ‘It is,’ said the Sheriff. ‘OK, OK. They want to walk into a fire-storm with Wally

    Immelmann, I’m not going to stop them. They’re on their own from now on. We just say Yessir

    and Nossir and let the bastards fuck up real good.’
    ‘No co-operation, sir?’
    The Sheriff sat back in his chair and smiled meaningfully.
    ‘Let’s just say we let them draw their own conclusions. Ain’t our asses going to be

    gored if they hit Wally. Good ole boy indeed. I reckon he’ll good ole boy them so fast they

    won’t have time to shit themselves.’

Chapter 9
    For five days Wilt wandered happily along little country lanes, across fields, through

    woods, down bridle-paths and beside streams and rivers, doing what he had hoped to do:

    discover a different England remote from the traffic and ugliness of big cities and

    the sort of life he led in Ipford. At midday he would stop at a pub and have a couple of

    pints and a sandwich and in the evening find some small hotel or B&B where he could get a

    square meal and a room for the night. The prices were reasonable and the food varied but he

    wasn’t looking for anything modern or luxurious and the people were friendly and

    helpful. In any case, he was always so tired–he’d never done so much walking in his life

    before–that he didn’t care whether a bed was comfortable or not. And when one landlady

    insisted rather unpleasantly that he take his muddy boots off and not make a mess of her

    carpets, he wasn’t bothered. Nor did he ever feel lonely. He’d come away to be alone, and

    apart from a few old men in pubs who struck up conversations with him and asked him where he

    was heading, and were puzzled when he replied that he had no idea, he spoke to hardly

    anyone. And the fact was that he really had no idea where he was or where he was going. He

    deliberately didn’t want to know. It was enough to lean on a five-bar gate and watch a

    farmer on a tractor mowing hay, or to sit by a river in the sunshine and stare at the

    water drifting by. Once he glimpsed a dark shape glide through the grass on the far bank