eyes fixed on the TV, when Derrick said that, it was if a skunk had just let off its spray. All heads and eyes locked on Derrick.
Then they all burst out laughing.
“Daytona, for crying out loud.” LJ turned to Jack as if wondering who Jack had brought with him.
“Oh, the 500?” Derrick said.
That brought even more knee slaps and howls.
After several minutes more of education about Fords, Chevys, and various drivers, Jack finally got up the nerve to ask if they could turn the TV off for ten minutes to talk about Demler-Vargus.
LJ and Galen scowled, but Travis went for the remote. “They’re just drivin’ to work this early in the race, anyway,” Travis said. “Real action comes later.”
The TV flicked off, and Travis pushed the only two chairs in the room close to Galen’s bed. LJ went to sit down, but Travis shooed him away, making room for the reporters.
“Jack and Derrick want to ask you some questions, Daddy, ’bout Demler-Vargus and all that,” Travis said.
Galen started the interview. “Who busted up the house?” he demanded, his sharp chin jutting out.
“That’s what we want to find out.” Jack spoke loudly so Galen could hear him. “Who do you think did it? You know that all they took were your notes on Demler-Vargus?”
Galen fidgeted with the sheets and didn’t make eye contact. “My lawyer, Ralston Coon, has copies of those notes, so we’re good.”
“What was in the notes, exactly?”
“Names, mainly,” Galen said. “Neighbors. Employees. People I learned were more than likely suffering and sick because of that dirty operation.”
Galen’s voice quavered. He had a lean, ruddy face with brown splotches on his forehead. His mouth formed a sad horizontal line. Perhaps he was thinking of his deceased wife.
“Travis said you had dates in there when you could actually see the fiberglass spewed all over the neighborhood?” Travis said.
“You know it’s a fact they killed Betty Jo, my wife.” Galen eyed Jack, then Derrick. “It ain’t right. It ain’t fair. And it ain’t American. There wasn’t no other way for me to go against them than with a lawyer.”
Jack scanned his notes. “But two attorneys you pursued didn’t want to work with you on this?”
“I should’ve known better.” Galen rubbed his beard stubble. “They was just ambulance chasers. Think I saw ’em on the TV. Charlie finally put me in touch with Coon; he swears by him.”
“And Charlie is your best friend, is that right?” Jack said.
“Since we was boys.” Galen shook his head, and his eyes wandered. “Walkin’ the railroad tracks in our bare feet; fishin’ down at Kline’s Pond …” Galen had returned there in his mind. “Takin’ our nickels to Drucker’s General Store for fresh-squeezed lemonade …”
“What else you wanna know, Jack?” LJ snatched the remote and tossed it back and forth in his large hands.
“We need for Galen to try to recall for us as many of the names as he can think of from his notes.” Jack waited for an objection from the boys, who’d had a long day, were tired, and wanted to watch their race.
“I’ll tell you who you need to talk to,” Galen said. “Spivey Brinkman. Lives right round back of us in the double-wide.”
Travis snapped his fingers, loud and quick. “That’s the handicapped girl’s daddy, Jack. The one you said you wrote the story about. Remember?”
“Jenness Brinkman, the East High honors grad? That’s Spivey Brinkman’s daughter?”
“That’s it.” Travis was so proud he looked as if he’d just won a contest.
“I met Spivey when I was there.” Jack recalled the short, plump, gray-haired man with round glasses, who seemed quiet and polite. An older sister was at the house too, but Jack had not spent much time with her.
“He’s your ticket,” Galen said. “Knows people. Got the inside dope on Demler-Vargus. More than me. I just jotted down things here and there. Spivey is like the underground know-it-all.
Then they all burst out laughing.
“Daytona, for crying out loud.” LJ turned to Jack as if wondering who Jack had brought with him.
“Oh, the 500?” Derrick said.
That brought even more knee slaps and howls.
After several minutes more of education about Fords, Chevys, and various drivers, Jack finally got up the nerve to ask if they could turn the TV off for ten minutes to talk about Demler-Vargus.
LJ and Galen scowled, but Travis went for the remote. “They’re just drivin’ to work this early in the race, anyway,” Travis said. “Real action comes later.”
The TV flicked off, and Travis pushed the only two chairs in the room close to Galen’s bed. LJ went to sit down, but Travis shooed him away, making room for the reporters.
“Jack and Derrick want to ask you some questions, Daddy, ’bout Demler-Vargus and all that,” Travis said.
Galen started the interview. “Who busted up the house?” he demanded, his sharp chin jutting out.
“That’s what we want to find out.” Jack spoke loudly so Galen could hear him. “Who do you think did it? You know that all they took were your notes on Demler-Vargus?”
Galen fidgeted with the sheets and didn’t make eye contact. “My lawyer, Ralston Coon, has copies of those notes, so we’re good.”
“What was in the notes, exactly?”
“Names, mainly,” Galen said. “Neighbors. Employees. People I learned were more than likely suffering and sick because of that dirty operation.”
Galen’s voice quavered. He had a lean, ruddy face with brown splotches on his forehead. His mouth formed a sad horizontal line. Perhaps he was thinking of his deceased wife.
“Travis said you had dates in there when you could actually see the fiberglass spewed all over the neighborhood?” Travis said.
“You know it’s a fact they killed Betty Jo, my wife.” Galen eyed Jack, then Derrick. “It ain’t right. It ain’t fair. And it ain’t American. There wasn’t no other way for me to go against them than with a lawyer.”
Jack scanned his notes. “But two attorneys you pursued didn’t want to work with you on this?”
“I should’ve known better.” Galen rubbed his beard stubble. “They was just ambulance chasers. Think I saw ’em on the TV. Charlie finally put me in touch with Coon; he swears by him.”
“And Charlie is your best friend, is that right?” Jack said.
“Since we was boys.” Galen shook his head, and his eyes wandered. “Walkin’ the railroad tracks in our bare feet; fishin’ down at Kline’s Pond …” Galen had returned there in his mind. “Takin’ our nickels to Drucker’s General Store for fresh-squeezed lemonade …”
“What else you wanna know, Jack?” LJ snatched the remote and tossed it back and forth in his large hands.
“We need for Galen to try to recall for us as many of the names as he can think of from his notes.” Jack waited for an objection from the boys, who’d had a long day, were tired, and wanted to watch their race.
“I’ll tell you who you need to talk to,” Galen said. “Spivey Brinkman. Lives right round back of us in the double-wide.”
Travis snapped his fingers, loud and quick. “That’s the handicapped girl’s daddy, Jack. The one you said you wrote the story about. Remember?”
“Jenness Brinkman, the East High honors grad? That’s Spivey Brinkman’s daughter?”
“That’s it.” Travis was so proud he looked as if he’d just won a contest.
“I met Spivey when I was there.” Jack recalled the short, plump, gray-haired man with round glasses, who seemed quiet and polite. An older sister was at the house too, but Jack had not spent much time with her.
“He’s your ticket,” Galen said. “Knows people. Got the inside dope on Demler-Vargus. More than me. I just jotted down things here and there. Spivey is like the underground know-it-all.
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