Behind the Badge
Page 36
Frost swallowed. “I know,” he said, backing up a step. “As a rule, Rackjack, I wouldn’t give a shit if you killed L.C., but he’s done some other things too. He stole some money and a gun, and he threatened to shoot Poochie.”
Rackjack cogitated for a minute. “I like Poochie,” he said.
“So do I. That’s why I wanna put L.C. in jail.”
“Elsie hurt Poochie, ah goan be real piss’ off, Fros’.”
“Gimme ‘til tomorrow, Rackjack. I don’t want this to get outa hand tonight. You might get shot or something.”
“Been shot.”
“Christ, Rackjack, I know ya have!”
“It ain’ so bad.”
“Look, as a favor to me, your ol’ pal Frosty, just don’t get in the middle of anything tonight.” He was sweating freely and just beginning to catch fleeting glimpses of scenes from his childhood. “Whadaya say, Jack?”
Rackjack froze for a moment, contemplating something about four inches above Frost’s head. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay? Okay! Great, just great. Thanks a lot, Rackjack.” Frost resisted the urge to fall to the earth and weep.
“Ah see Elsie tomorra, I goan keel his ass graveyard dead.”
“Fine. Just fine, Jack,” Frost said, backing toward his car. “Tomorrow you can kill him if I don’t catch him tonight. Thanks for your time.”
“Sho’,” Rackjack gurgled.
Frost eased back into the car feeling like he’d just run a marathon and collapsed onto the seat, breathing heavily.
“Damn,” Legs said, “that was close. A couple a times when he kinda swelled up, I thought he was gonna go for ya. I was ready though, Frosty. What’s he like when he’s in a good mood?”
Frost’s smile was wan.
“Shit, rook,” he said. “That was a good mood.”
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