Bloody River Blues

beer.”
    In addition to a damp paper bag Pellam was holding a thick white envelope. Buffett looked at it first and the bag second.
    Pellam closed the door. Buffett said, “They got a rule against that.”
    “Yeah? What’re you, a cop?” He opened two pint Foster’s.
    Buffett looked at the blue and red logo. “Oh, yes! That stuff really gives me a buzz. Is that a kangaroo on there?”
    “It’s not going to hurt you, is it? I mean, like with medicine you’re taking?”
    Buffett drank down three good swallows. “Oooo,” he said slowly. “Jubilation.”
    Pellam sat down in the chair. He held the envelope in one hand. Buffett stared at it.
    “Donnie . . . Uh, your wife?”
    “She say anything about that?” He nodded toward the envelope.
    “She didn’t see it.”
    Buffett drank more of the ale. He wasn’t looking at Pellam.
    “She was kind of chanting when I left.”
    The cop studied his beer. “Yeah, she does that some. It’s like a, you know, hobby.”
    “We get a lot of that out in California.”
    “She’s real sweet. Good kid. And a cook. You want to talk pasta? Penny’s the best. She cooks all kinds. She makes white clam sauce. You know anybody else who’s ever made white clam sauce?”
    “I met Stan and Ruth.”
    “Yeah. They’re all right.” Buffett looked around the room. “We don’t have a whole lot to talk about. Stan’s a good guy.”
    “Seems that way. Your wife okay, Donnie?”
    “What do you mean okay?”
    “It wasn’t just the chanting. She had this candle burning . . .”
    Buffett laughed—though he guessed his eyes did not join in. He said, “She’s kind of superstitious. Like with Reagan, remember? Nancy had an astrologer. A lot of people are into that kind of stuff now. Crystals.” He reached over to the table and lifted up a clear green stone. “Green’s supposed to make you well again. Penny got it for me.” His voice caught and he swallowed. “I’m supposed to wear it. But I figured my Blue Cross goes out the window if they find out I’m getting treated by spirit guides.” He laughed again. The sound turned into a shallow cough. “I’m supposed to keep turning. Otherwise, all this shit settles in my lungs.” His face went dark and still. “I’m working out, too.” He nodded to the jump rope. “I’ll be back in shape in no time.”
    “Wheelchair basketball.”
    “I’ll whup your ass.”
    “I don’t even play basketball,” Pellam said.
    Buffett was looking at the envelope. “You found it okay.”
    Pellam handed it to him. “It’s pretty beat-up. That’s what Maddox issues you?”
    Buffett shook the gun out of the envelope and held it lovingly. He clicked it open and looked at the shells inside. He read the engraved, circular word Remington five times. He did not seem to hear Pellam’s question but a moment later he said, “It’s a cold gun.”
    “What’s that?” Pellam asked.
    “A gun with the registration filed off. Untraceable. Sometimes you go into a drug bust, there’re a lot of cold guns around. So you pick up one and keep it.”
    “Like for a backup?”
    Buffett spun the cylinder then said, “Well, I use them for backup. Lotta cops use them for something else. Like for when there’s some asshole coming at you in an alley and you tell him to stop but he doesn’t.” Buffett stopped speaking as if this were explanation enough.
    Pellam shook his head.
    Buffett whispered, “You see what I’m saying? You take him out with your service piece then slip a cold gun in his hand. When they have the shooting hearing, you tell them you had to shoot him because he had a piece.” He found he was sweating and wiped his face.
    “That happens a lot?”
    “Some. They know it goes on. The thing is, if you die with something in your hand the muscles tighten up on it right away. So it’s a hassle to get the guy’s prints on it. The shooting board always suspects but unless it happens to the same cop a lot they’d rather come down on our side.” He looked up. “Thanks for doing this.”
    “You really think there’s a chance the killer’ll come back? Try to hit you here?”
    “I just feel a whole lot better with a piece.” He nodded at the gun.
    “I hear you.” Pellam finished his Foster’s. “Should’ve brought some peanuts.”
    Buffett set his ale down. “Stomach must’ve shrunk. Used to be a time when I could drink three of these.”
    “You’ll still be able to—”
    Buffett’s eyes flashed. “Don’t do