Damn. Thatcher shook his head. “No.”
“Aw, good. The cars are crowded.”
The passenger settled into the seat. “Where are you headed?”
So much for discouraging conversation. Thatcher t
ook off his hat and placed it on his knee. He put his thumb and middle finger into his eye sockets and rubbed them. “Abilene. Then east from there.”
“Back to Foley?”
Surprised by that response, Thatcher glanced at his seat partner, did a double take, then his right hand automatically went for his pistol.
“You’re not wearing your gun belt. I checked as you boarded. I didn’t want you to shoot me before I could explain myself.”
The smile he flashed was not that of a pimp. In place of the gold tooth was a normal white molar. “You thought you’d seen the last of Chester Landry, didn’t you? Well, you have. And, God, what a jerk he was. I’m glad to be shed of him.”
He had medium brown hair that was wavy and loose, not slicked back with pounds of pomade. He was dressed in a conservative dark suit, with a pinstripe vest and unremarkable necktie.
Thatcher looked around to see if they were being observed, possibly to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming. No one was paying him any attention except the man seated next to him. Thatcher said, “Who the hell are you?”
“Lewis Mahoney, detective, Dallas PD. I’ll show you my badge if you insist, but that can be awkward, because I’m presently on loan to another agency, working undercover.”
“What agency?”
“I can’t tell.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Actually it’s a nuisance. Because I would like for you to believe me, Mr. Hutton. I’m sure you have questions. I’ll answer those I can.”
“What happened to Randy?”
“He was drawing too much attention to himself. I was afraid that Croft was going to have him killed, so I had to get him out of there. I lured him to Dallas by promising him a position in my fictitious bootlegging operation. I took him to a speakeasy to celebrate his new employment. It was raided, as planned. Dallas police arrested him, as planned. I escaped arrest, as planned.”
“Like at Lefty’s.”
He made a wry face. “No, that wasn’t planned. I just got lucky that night. Anyway. Randy. Arresting officers promised him clemency in exchange for names. That of Chester Landry topped his list, of course. Not the most loyal of acquaintances, a young man of meager character, and negligible morals, but not deserving of having his throat cut by Jimmy Hennessy.” He looked at Thatcher shrewdly. “By the way, congratulations on that outstanding display of marksmanship. You’re already a legend. I’ll bet Wyatt Earp is pea green.”
Thatcher ignored that. “You know, some suspected me of being a secret agent.”
“Croft was convinced. You bedeviled him, Mr. Hutton.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But I’m talking about friends who figured me for a spy. I’d hate doing what you do, Mr. Mahoney.”
“Yes, you would. The integrity thing.”
“Doesn’t it ever bother you to rat out people who’ve befriended you?”
“It would if I didn’t stay focused on the big picture.”
“Which is what?”
“First and foremost, I’m an officer of the law. I despise this Prohibition act, because it is already making lawbreakers out of law-abiding people, and turning petty criminals into villainous racketeers. Croft, for example.”
“My understanding is that he was always corrupt.”
“Yes, but he hadn’t gone so far as to murder anyone. Greed rid him of restraint. Even in the short time I knew him, I saw it happening, and it was frightening. Mark my words, Hutton, the next war this country fights is going to be against violent crime syndicates that give no quarter.”