Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,4

spot in my career. For Nate, the problem was twofold. One, I was his friend, and he didn’t want to dredge up bad memories. And two, the story had been told already. Many, many times.

So Nate would skip it altogether. I guess that’s the beauty of editing.

“You don’t carry a gun,” he said. He was on a roll and I didn’t want to stop him.

“Just a Nikon.”

“You’re definitely not a tall, dark and handsome, Mickey Spillane type ladies man.”

I just shook my head at that one. “You’ve got a real nose for the truth,” I said.

“What,” he said. “You didn’t get your hands on a pair of tits until the dairy farm field trip our senior year of high school.”

He had a point there, the bastard.

“The fact that you’re married is less about you and more about the unceasing generosity of women.”

“Glad you’re not pulling any punches,” I said. “I think I’ll go back to my office and hang myself.”

Our food arrived. A turkey on rye for me. A double Boss Burger with an extra large order of fries for Nate. Food was his way to deal with stress. Three years ago, his first child, a boy, had been born without a pulmonary artery. A small oversight on the ultrasound technician’s part. After many operations, the little guy was doing fine, but there was still a certain amount of concern about him. Nate, at 5’8”, had always been a little chunky. Now, he weighed nearly 350 pounds.

“Plus, you’re not some lone wolf, like P.I.s are supposed to be,” he continued. “You know, the guy haunted by some lost love, or grieving over the unfortunate death of his young wife. You’re a family man with two young girls.” Nate doused his fries with salt and took a huge bite from his Boss Burger.

“And don’t forget,” I said. “No one’s firebombed my house or framed me as a Presidential assassin.”

Nate nodded. He knew everything there was to know about me. This interview was really just an excuse to get together for lunch, which we do every week anyway, but because of the story it was being paid for by the paper.

“Here’s a thought,” I said. “This may sound kind of crazy – but do you think you can actually work in a few positive things – you know – stuff that might actually be good for business?”

“Won’t that be false advertising?” he said through a mouth full of fries.

“Good point,” I said. “Stick with your ‘ugly and dull’ angle. Customers will be beating down my door.”

“The truth shall set you free,” he said.

“Okay, I like the whole ‘Average Joe’ approach,” I said. “As long as you don’t make me sound like I’m light in the loafers.”

“So you want me to lie.”

“I’m just a normal guy trying to do a good job for his customers. I’m fair, honest and reliable.”

“Fucking boring as a box of rocks,” Nate said.

I was going to give him a shot back but he’d already tucked into the Boss Burger. I knew that he was so into his meal there was no doubt about whether or not he was listening. It didn’t matter. He’d do a good story on me.

And since the paper was buying, I ordered another Diet Coke.

Cliché fighter, my ass.

Four

He stood outside my office door, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in faded blue jeans, a colorful shirt, black leather vest and shiny black cowboy boots. His powder white hair was thick and combed straight back. The eyes beneath the white brows were blazing blue and unclouded, twin shafts of cool set among a lined, weathered face. But there was more than just age on his face. More than fatigue, as well. It was something I’d seen only a few times in my life, but once you see it, you remember.

“Can I help you?” I asked, the keys to my office in hand. I felt tired and full from lunch. I don’t know if it was because of Nate’s eating problem or what, but I always ate more when I was with him. Or at least that was my excuse and I was sticking with it.

“Are you John Rockne?” Marshal Dillon asked. His voice had a deep gravel to it, whiskey and cigarettes and two a.m. closing calls.

“Guilty as charged,” I said, stifling a belch. I unlocked the door and let him into my office. “How can I help you?”

He took a brief look around and then turned and faced me. He held out his hand and I