'He goes, "You're a good boy, son. You make me proud. Jack Vanzandt's fixing to have his day."
'My father ain't ever talked like that before, Mr Holland.
His pistol, the one he brung home from the army, I looked and it ain't in his drawer.'
'I don't think your dad would kill anyone, Lucas.'
He looked around behind him again.
'You want me to leave?' Temple said.
I raised my hand. 'Go ahead, Lucas,' I said.
'He done it in the war. A lieutenant kept getting people killed. My dad threw a grenade in his tent.'
'Where is your dad now?'
'Getting a haircut down the street.'
I winked at him.
But my confidence was cosmetic. Neither I nor anyone I knew in Deaf Smith had any influence over Vernon Smothers. He believed intransigence was a virtue, a laconic and mean-spirited demeanor was strength, reason was the tool the rich used to keep the poor satisfied with their lot, and education amounted to reading books full of lies written by history's victors.
I was almost relieved when I asked in the barbershop and was told Vernon had already gone. Then the barber added, 'Right next door in the beer joint. Tell him to stay there, too, will you?'
The inside of the tavern was dark and cool, filled with the sounds of midday pool shooters, and at the end of the long wood bar Vernon Smothers sat hunched over a plate, peeling a hardboiled egg, a cup of coffee by his wrist.
I had rather seen him drunk. Under the brim of a white straw hat, his face had the deceptive serenity of a man who was probably threading his way in and out of a nervous breakdown, his eyes predisposed and resolute with private conclusions that no one would alter.
I waved the bartender away and remained standing.
'We found a couple of witnesses, Vernon. I think Lucas is going to walk.'
'You want an egg?'
'Jack Vanzandt doesn't have any power in that courtroom.'
'The hell he don't.'
'You won't trust me?'
'I trusted the people sent me to Vietnam. I come home on a troop ship under the Golden Gate. People up on the bridge dropped Baggies full of shit on us.'
'To tell you the truth, Vernon, I don't think you'd have had it any other way,' I said, and walked back down the polished length of the bar into the sunlight.
It was a cheap remark to make, one that I would regret.
I crossed the street to the courthouse and opened Marvin Pomroy's office door. He was talking to his secretary.
'Got time for some early disclosure?' I asked.
'No more deals. You've got all the slack you're getting,' he said.
'I'm filing a motion to dismiss.'
'I've got to hear this. I haven't had a laugh all day,' he replied.
I followed him into the inner office.