I Is for Innocent

rap. So he asks me in and we have a couple drinks –"
    "What'd you drink?"
    "He had some kind of pussy drink, vodka tonic with a twist. I had bourbon straight up with a water back. It was classy bourbon, too."
    "So you're having drinks..."
    "That's right. We're having these drinks and he's got this little old gal in the kitchen making up a tray of snacks. That green stuff. Guacamole and salsa and these triangle-shape chips that're gray. I said, 'What the hell are them?' and he said, 'They're blue corn tortilla chips.' Looked gray if you asked me. We set there and drank and carried on until almost midnight."
    "What about dinner?"
    "Wasn't any dinner. Just snacks is all, which is how we got so loaded."
    "And then what?"
    "And that's when he said what he said, about he done her."
    "What'd he say exactly?"
    "Said he knocked on the door. She come downstairs and flipped on the porch light. He waited until he seen her eye block the light in the little peephole? Then he fired away. Boom!"
    "Why didn't you tell me this story to begin with?"
    "It didn't look right," he said righteously. "I mean, I went up there to ask if he'd lend me some money. I didn't want it to seem like I was mad he turned me down. Nobody'd believe me if I told the story that way. Besides, he was nice about it and I didn't want to look like a dick. Pardon my French."
    "Why would he admit he killed her?"
    "Why not? Once he's acquitted, he can't be retried."
    "Not in criminal court."
    "Shoot. He's not going to worry about a damn civil suit."
    "And you're prepared to go into court with this?"
    "I don't mind."
    "You will testify under oath," I said, trying to make sure he understood what this was about.
    "Sure. Only... you know."
    "Only you know what?"
    "I'd like a little something back," he said.
    "As in what?"
    "Well, fair is fair."
    "Nobody's going to pay you money."
    "I know that. I never said money."
    "Then what?"
    "I'd like to see a little time off my parole, something like that."
    "Curtis, nobody's going to make a deal with you. I have no authority whatsoever to do that."
    "I never said make a deal, but I could use some consideration."
    I looked at him long and earnestly. Why didn't I believe what he was telling me? Because he looked like a man who wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit him. I don't know what made me blurt out the next question. "Curtis, have you ever been convicted of perjury?"
    "Perjury?"
    "Goddamn it! You know what perjury is. Just answer the question and let's get on with this."
    He scratched at his chin, his gaze not quite meeting mine. "I never been convicted."
    "Oh, hell," I said.
    I got up out of the booth and walked away from him, heading for the rear of the restaurant. Behind me, I could hear him spring to his feet. I glanced back in time to see him fling some bills on the table as he hurried after me. I stepped out into the parking lot, nearly recoiling from the harsh sunlight on the white gravel.
    "Hey! Now, wait up! I'm telling you the truth."
    He grabbed at me and I pulled my arm out of reach. "You're going to look like crap on the stand," I said, without breaking stride. "You've got a record a mile long, including charges of perjury –"
    "Not 'charges.' Just the one. Well, two, if you count that other business."
    "I don't want to hear it. You've already changed your story once. You'll change it again the next time somebody asks. Barney's attorney is going to tear you apart."
    "Well, I don't see why you have to take that attitude," he said. "Just because I told one lie doesn't mean I can't tell the truth."
    "You don't even know the difference, Curtis. That's what worries me."
    "I do know."
    I unlocked my car door and opened it, rolling down the window to break the air lock when I shut it. I got in the front seat and slammed the door smartly, nearly catching his hand on the doorpost where he was resting it. I reached over and flipped open the glove compartment. I got out one of my business cards and thrust it through the window at him. "Give me a call when you decide to tell the truth."
    I started the car and pulled away from him, flinging up dust and gravel in my wake.
    I drove back to the office with the radio blasting. It was 3:35 and, of course, parking was at a premium. It didn't occur to me that with Lonnie driving up to Santa Maria, his space would be free. I circled the area, increasing one block with each round, trying to snag a spot within reasonable walking distance of the office. Finally, I found a