We walked away from the pool, me first, Ray in the middle, and then Bernie. That was a good way of doing things, especially with perps. Was Ray a perp? I didn’t know, but I was ready for anything. Meanwhile those sirens were louder.
“Where’s your car?” Bernie said.
“Don’t have one,” Ray said.
“Yeah, you do,” Bernie said. “Your father – “
Ray’s voice rose. “I don’t have a damn father.”
Bernie paused. “Bob said he saw you driving an econobox in Bakersfield.”
“It broke down when I got to Vegas,” Ray said. “I took a taxi here.”
“You haven’t done a very good job of covering your tracks,” Bernie said.
“Why should I?”
“That’s the operative question right now.”
“What does that mean?”
Bernie didn’t answer. We hurried through Albie’s house, out the gate and onto the road.
“Hop in,” Bernie said. “Uh, Chet? You’ll have to get in the back.”
The back? It was just a shelf. I hated being in the back. Did that mean Ray was getting the shotgun seat?
“Chet? We’re running out of time, big guy.”
The thing with Bernie: he always asks me so nicely. I saw flashing blue lights through the trees on the next block.
Spence and Admin say thanks for all the birthday wishes – and that great card!
Still time to try your luck at the pop quiz (see June 23 post).
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