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sure ourselves.”
    “The way you were yelling at each other back at that house, I’d think you hated each other’s guts. Then after a while there, you were talking real civil.”
    “Well, I got a certain amount of respect for Brennan. Within his limitations, he’s a good sheriff. Except when he’s looking out for the interests of his political buddies and various other string-pullers around town.”
    “I kind of gathered there was some friction between you two because of his son John. I remember how thick you guys were back in high school.”
    “John and me went back even before that, to junior high. Even then I was always smart-mouthing Brennan, and Brennan never did like that. Not that I blame him.”
    “You and John went in the army together, didn’t you?”
    “That’s right. The Buddy Plan, or whatever the hell it was called. And John died, and I lived, and Brennan’s resented me ever since.”
    “That simple, huh.”
    “Well, not really. After I got out, I was one of the Vietnam vets against the war. Pretty active. Brennan got wind of that, and I’ve been a traitor ever since. He thinks this is still the sixties and I’m a hippie who thinks cops are ‘pigs’ or something. It’s sad, really.”
    “Weren’t you a cop yourself at one time?”
    “Yeah, a very short time,” I said, and told him how I’d been on the force for around six months in a small California town a few years ago. And that I’d worked for Per Mar, a security outfit in the nearby Quad Cities, for a while. Then we got sidetracked, with me mentioning how for the better part of five years I’d been outside Port City, doing this and that, finally coming back to roost and taking a shot at writing; and Lou mentioned he’d been gone for several years, too, working in a factory in Ohio. Anyway, we got sidetracked, and it was along about this time that the waitress told us to leave because it was fifteen minutespast the coffee shop’s closing and she had a right to go home like anybody else.
    Out in the hospital lobby, Lou said, “You thinking about playing cop, Mal?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You’re involved, aren’t you?”
    “Don’t say that.”
    “Well, you
are.
Involved in a murder. You were beaten up, and besides, you were a friend of the old lady’s, weren’t you?”
    “Tell me the truth, Lou. Did Brennan put you up to this? To find out my attitude?”
    “No. I’m just curious.”
    I shrugged again. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. If you and Brennan can take care of this, fine. But I admit I’m pretty pissed off about the whole thing, and wouldn’t mind getting my hands on the SOBs responsible.”
    Lou just nodded.
    “See you, Lou. Come over to my place sometime. I’ll see if I can’t find a beer for you.”
    “I’d like that. I could use a place to get away to.”
    “Love to have you. Is there a problem?”
    “Well, I’m living with my folks, and it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to find an apartment, but till I do, I’m stuck with the folks, and I love ’em, but they drive me goddamn crazy. A twenty-nine-year-old man does not belong in his parents’ home.”
    “I agree. Only on holidays.”
    “And Christmas is a long ways off.”
    We chatted for a few minutes more, and just as we were starting to part company, Lou said, “Almost forgot the reason I came looking for you. Was supposed to find out how you were, to tell Brennan. What’s your condition, anyway?”
    “Got my ribs messed up a little. Maybe cracked, maybe broken.”
    “Damn. Does it hurt?”
    “Only when I breathe.”
    Lou went off to call Brennan, and I headed out to the parking lot and got in my van.
    For a moment I thought about what Lou had said, about my “being involved.”
    No way. Let Lou and Brennan handle it. Like Brennan said, in the morning I’ll be over it.
    I started up the engine, turned my head, and glanced out the rear van window to back out of the parking space. My eye caught something on