Between Black and White (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #2)(18)

“But what?’ Tom asked.

“I don’t know, he’s just a strange bird. Never married. Lives in a small house two doors down from his office. Kind of a loner. Outside of going to medical seminars every so often in different places, I’ve never known him to leave town.”

“Can he shoot a twelve-gauge?” Tom asked, smiling.

Ray Ray chuckled. “I ’spect everybody in Giles County can shoot a shotgun.”

“We need another suspect,” Tom said.

Ray Ray shook his head and again grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He took a long pull off the bottle and wiped his mouth. “No. What you need is to be talking a plea deal with the General, Tommy boy.”

It had begun to rain, and Ray Ray fished out an umbrella from behind his chair and opened it. “We probably need to move this party inside.”

“Ray Ray, I need you, man. I’m filing the notice of appearance tomorrow morning. Can I put your name on it?”

Thunder clapped hard from the east, and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Ray Ray Pickalew gave the umbrella handle to Tom and stepped out from under the cover. “I’m just a washed-up old drunk, Tom. Bo will tell you. I’d be a cancer to his defense. You need a criminal defense guy anyway, not a divorce thug like me. Go with Lou Horn. His office is a block north of mine. Or Dick Selby. Horn and Selby have cases against Helen all the time.”

“Which means she has both of their dicks in a jar above her mantle at home,” Tom said. “You’ve beaten her before, Ray Ray. And you know this county like the back of your hand.”

“He’s guilty, Tom,” Ray Ray said, the alcohol slurring his words. “It’s a barking dog of a case. Have you read the papers? Helen ain’t going to stop until Bo is lethally injected. You understand what I’m saying.”

“He’s our friend,” Tom said.

“Wrong,” Ray Ray said. “He’s your friend.” He took another sip from the bottle, closing his eyes and grimacing as the liquid burned his throat. “If I was lit on fire and Bo had to piss, he might shoot a few drops my way, but that’s the extent of our relationship. The last time I tangled with Bo in court, we about ended up in a fistfight on the steps of the courthouse.”

“That’s because you’re a brawler, Ray Ray. And that’s what Bo needs now.”

Ray Ray laughed and took another belt of whiskey. He was soaking wet. “What Bo needs is a Catholic priest. Now get the hell off my pier, Tommy.”

“Ray Ray—”

“Go on,” Ray Ray said, gesturing with the bottle and sloshing whiskey out of it before taking another sip. “Get. I’ve had enough of this mess. I’d rather drink myself to death than fight at the Alamo, and that’s what going to war with Helen Lewis in Giles County will be like.”

“OK, Ray Ray,” Tom said, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you here with your buddy Evan Williams. But before you get too far gone, I want you to ask yourself a question. What would the Man think about all this?”

“Tom, I’m warning you—”

“What would Coach Bryant say about you just turning your back on life? Sitting out on this pier and drinking yourself to death.”

Ray Ray heaved the handle of whiskey at Tom, and Tom ducked down, the bottle whizzing past his ear and falling into the river. “Get the f*ck off my property.”

Tom turned and began to walk away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ray Ray. I’ll be at Bo’s office. Just meet me there around nine thirty.”

“I’ll meet you in hell, Tommy. That’s the next time you’ll see me.”



As Tom pulled his Explorer out of the gravel drive, he could still see Ray Ray sitting on the pier, the rain pelting down on him. It looked like he was talking to himself.

For a split second Tom considered the possibility of associating one of the criminal defense lawyers Ray Ray had mentioned. Horn or Selby. Then as the rain continued to pound the windshield, Tom shook his head.

Ray Ray Pickalew had a lot of problems. He was a drunk. A womanizer. And he’d been written up a couple of times by the Tennessee Bar for ethical violations. A saint he was not, and he probably couldn’t teach a class on criminal law.

But he’s not afraid of a fight, and the nastier the better, Tom thought. Once engaged, Ray Ray would be on this case like stink on a pig, and there would be only one acceptable outcome.

Winning.

He’ll come around, Tom thought, nodding his head and pulling onto Highway 31. Just give it some time . . .



On the pier Ray Ray Pickalew lay on his back, gazing up at the cloudy sky. His legs dangled off the dock, and he was humming a song to himself. He had taken his rain-drenched shirt off, and the wooden dock would probably have been uncomfortable if he wasn’t piss drunk. He closed his eyes, seeing Doris for a split second. In her bathing suit in the Keys, sitting on the bed, watching him get dressed. Then . . . at the nursing home, the orderly coming in to change her diaper. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing an image of his secretary Bonnie’s tits into his brain. It didn’t hold. The images kept coming, a whirlwind of them, mostly of Doris at the nursing home. Slowly and painfully forgetting who she was until there was none of her left. The day he knew her mind was gone for good, he had sat on this same pier all night with a pistol in his hand. Putting the barrel in his mouth a few times but never doing the deed. Never pulling the trigger . . .