The cruiser pulled to the curb in front of Deb’s Café. Stopped a couple of feet away. It was nine o’clock in the morning and the air was thick with heat. A light rain was falling. Sheriff Fielding opened the passenger-side door and looked down into the gutter running with gray water.
Don’t worry, Deputy, Fielding said, I’ll walk to the curb.
I’ll go see what Gene’s got to say about this complaint, Clinton said. Then I’ll be back. Order me up a couple a eggs won’t yeh.
Good enough.
Fielding came in from the rain and stomped the mud from his shoes and shook the water from his collar. He removed his wide hat and said the name of the woman working the counter.
Mornin Sheriff, she said.
He took his regular booth in the back corner and read the headlines of a paper left behind and set his hat in the center of the table.
A nice, thick woman named Meryl brought the sheriff his coffee in a china mug with a saucer. He smiled warmly at her and ordered the deputy his eggs.
Can I get you anything? she asked.
I guess I wouldn’t say no to a muffin.
Bran all right with you?
No blueberry?
Sold my last one to that gentleman there.
Well then I’ll take the bran.
He drank the coffee and read the paper. Plucked a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it. The first drag was long and slow. He finished his coffee and had another. Half an hour passed before he saw the deputy again. By that time it had stopped raining and the deputy’s eggs were cold. Fielding was just about to pay when Clinton came through the door and crossed the café in a bit of a hurry and sat down at the booth.
He took off his hat and set it on the table and combed his black hair over with his fingers.
Yer eggs is cold, Fielding said.
Gene said they were robbed last night, Clinton said.
Robbed?
That’s what he said.
They get the safe?
Naw. No money was missin.
What the hell they take then?
Clinton grinned.
What’s got you amused? Fielding asked.
Some ladies’ panties and three brassieres.
Fielding stubbed out his cigarette. Laughed through his nose and shook his head. He tapped the paper with his middle finger as if that would help to explain things.
They found an entire family kilt out in Colorado this week, he said. Whole family murdered for twenty dollars. He frowned and shook. The older I get . . .
Fielding stared at the headline on the paper.
The older yeh get, what sir? Clinton asked.
Fielding laid a dollar on the table.
Nothin. Yeh best eat them eggs. Gene ain’t one for patience.