The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(53)

Rick looked at Mule, knowing there was just one other thing. The most important thing. “Mr Morris, will you testify to everything you just told us at trial?”

Mule’s smile widened, and he slammed both hands on the table. “Damn right I will. I liked Dewey Newton. He’s dead because of the schedule he was on, same as the people in that Honda.” Mule stood up and grabbed a bar coaster from the table across from them. He turned the coaster around, and wrote two phone numbers on the back. “Here’s how to reach me. Just let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.” He slapped Rick on the back. “You got a card?”

Rick fumbled into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a business card. Mule snatched it from him and leaned down. “I may send y’all a little surprise in the mail. A little extra butter on the bread, if you know what I mean.”

Rick didn’t have a clue what he meant, but he smiled back. “Sounds good,” Rick stammered.

“All right, then. Best get back to the festival. Been aiming to ride Doo’s bull all night.” He stuck out his hand, and Rick shook it. “Damn nice to meet you Rick. Ms Dawn.”

Rick watched Mule walk all the way out of the bar. Then he turned to Dawn, whose eyes were just as wild as his own.

“Holy shit!” they both screamed at the same time. Rick grasped Dawn in a bear hug and squeezed her tight, and she squealed in pain and delight. All thoughts of the conversation with Jameson Tyler were gone. Dick “Mule” Morris was on the team and batting cleanup. This case just went from good to a grand slam home run, Rick thought.

They were both so excited that neither of them noticed the stubbly-faced man who followed Mule out the door.





38


Mule Morris drove a 1987 Ford F-150 pickup truck and lived in a clapboard house three miles from the Faunsdale Bar & Grill. After drinking three more beers and eating another pound of crawfish, Mule said goodbye to his cousin and headed home.

It felt good telling someone about Dewey Newton. He had felt guilty for six months for not saying something right after it happened, and even guiltier for accepting the $5K to stay silent. He didn’t owe nobody nothing and he was tired of having a guilty conscience.

Mule saw his little piece of heaven up on the right, and pressed the brake to begin slowing down.

Nothing happened.

What the... Mule slammed his foot this time on the brake, and still nothing. “Oh, shit.” Up ahead, past his house, Highway 25 made a sharp right turn. He slammed his foot three more times on the brake and still nothing. The yellow sign marking the ninety-degree turn gave a maximum speed to safely make the turn at 25. Mule looked at the speedometer. He was going 55.

“Fuck!”

Mule Morris turned the wheel hard right and braced himself.

The truck crashed into the metal railing that guarded the far side of the highway, and, for a second, Mule thought the railing would hold. But the truck was going too fast. It broke through the railing and hurdled down the steep embankment. Mule squeezed the wheel till his knuckles were chalk white. If I can make it all the way to the bottom, maybe it flattens...

The truck flipped on its side, and Mule’s shoulder exploded in pain.

Somebody tripped my brakes, he thought, picturing the man who made him the bribe. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clump of trees through the windshield.

I’m going to die.





39


Rick, Dawn and Powell laughed all the way back to Tuscaloosa. While Rick and Dawn had been meeting with Mule, Powell had won the annual Crawfish Eating contest, and, for his victory, he had been given the Crawfish Cup, a huge bowl of a trophy that had a picture of a crawfish emblazoned on the side of it. Since the contest, Powell had delighted in filling the Cup with beer and drinking from it, which he was doing now in the backseat of the Saturn.

“Alright, Delta Dawn, your turn,” Powell said, handing her the full Cup.

“Powell, I’ve had enough. And would you please stop calling me that.”

Of course, her protests just led Rick and Powell to serenade her for the tenth time since she’d said she hated the song because her ex-husband used to sing it to her all the time.

“Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on, could it be a faded rose...”

“All right! Enough!” Dawn took the Cup from Powell and turned it up.

“That’s it. Cannonball it! Cannonball it!” Powell said, repeating another often quoted moment from Caddyshack.

Spilling a little bit down her chin, Dawn finished and handed the Cup back to Powell. “There, happy?” she asked, smiling.

Powell made a mock-serious face. “Ms Dawn, it gives my heart great joy to see you drink from my trophy.”

Dawn shook her head, and started to say something, but Powell started singing again, and Rick couldn’t stop himself from joining in.

“...and did I hear you say, he was meetin’ you here today. To take you to his mansion in the sky!” As Powell’s voice rose higher than Rick’s, Dawn covered her ears, and Rick’s entire body tingled with happiness.

Good times, he thought.





40


Mule opened his eyes. The truck was on its back, but he was still alive. He couldn’t move his right arm, but everything else felt OK. He kicked at the windshield and, after three efforts, the glass shattered. I’m going to make it, he thought. Pulling his body forward with his left arm, he was almost out of the truck when he saw the boots on the dirt.