Zigzag by Bill Pronzini Read Free Book Online Page A

man who found him and Floyd Mears,” and added my name and a reminder of my profession.
    â€œI don’t believe it,” Buckner said.
    â€œYou don’t believe what? That I’m who I say I am?”
    He leaned forward. “No, that Ray shot it out with some backwoods marijuana dealer. That’s bullshit, plain and simple.”
    â€œNot according to the evidence.”
    â€œYeah, well, whatever. But the Ray I knew was no killer. And no damn pothead. He had bad asthma, he couldn’t stand smoke.”
    â€œSo his wife told me.”
    â€œDoreen? How do you know her?”
    â€œShe doesn’t believe the evidence, either—she thinks he had some other reason for going to see Mears. She came to my office yesterday, begged me to try to prove her right. She told me you were a good friend of her husband’s; that’s why I’m here.”
    â€œGood enough not to blow him off like most of his other so-called friends when he got sent to prison. The only one besides me who’d have anything to do with him when he came home was Pete Retzyck. Doreen give you his name, too?”
    â€œYes. You know Retzyck, I take it.”
    â€œSure I know him. He’s a regular here like Ray was. Two of them used to go hunting together.”
    â€œDo you happen to know if he works Saturdays?”
    â€œI don’t think so. But I can tell you where he lives. He—”
    The blowsy blonde rattled her glass on the bar and called out in a wheedling tone, “Hey, Joe, I’m dry here, Joe.”
    Buckner said to me, “Just a minute,” and went down to the blonde. “No more, Angie, I told you that before. You’re over the tab limit.”
    â€œOne more, huh? Just one?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œC’mon, sweetie, be nice. Just a little one?”
    â€œGo home, Angie.”
    â€œI’m good for it, you know that; I always pay my tab.”
    â€œYeah, sure you do. A few bucks a month, like interest on a credit card.”
    She looked my way, looked at the beer drinkers. “Would one of you gentlemen be so kind as to buy a lady one little drink?”
    None of us answered her. I knew her type well enough—alone, lonely, desperate for companionship, and looking for solace in the bottom of an empty glass when it wasn’t forthcoming—and I felt a little sorry for her. But not enough to act as an enabler for her alcoholism.
    Buckner said, “You going to walk out under your own power, or you want me to carry you?”
    â€œWell, all right, you don’t have to get tough about it.” She lifted herself off the stool with the aid of the beveled edge of the bar. “I’m never coming back here again. Pay my tab with a check. You’ll never see me again.”
    â€œPromises, promises,” one of the beer drinkers said. For some reason the other two thought this was funny. The blonde glared at them, straightened her skirt, and went out with a slow, walk-a-straight-line kind of dignity.
    Buckner came back to me. “Drunks,” he said. Then he said, “I’ll tell you something about Doreen. Woman’s a saint. Ray, well, he was no world-beater, but she stood by him through the rough patches, waited for him while he was in Mule Creek. Visited him whenever she could; I drove her up there a couple of times myself. Loyal, you know?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œSo you do a good job for her, man; don’t try to take advantage.”
    â€œI won’t. You don’t have to worry about that.”
    He nodded his head, then flicked it sideways. “That’s another thing I can’t figure,” he said. “Ray doing what he did that got him put in prison. Driving drunk, resisting arrest, assaulting a cop. Just not like him at all.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œHell, no. He wasn’t a heavy boozer, didn’t usually drink more than a few beers. I only seen him drunk a couple of times in the ten