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“Will that be before or after your eyes swell shut? I hope you don’t have any TV commercials to do this week. You’re gonna look like shit for a while. Maybe you can buy shirts that’ll match your bruises.”
“You’re a…”
“I know what I am,” Dale said brusquely, all traces of humor vanishing. “And I know even better what you are. Now, we can stand here all night swapping insults. I’ve got nothing else to do. But you’re a busy man. You’re also the one who’s bleeding and hurting like hell. Your better option is to talk to me like you’ve been itching to do. I drove halfway across the state to get here. So talk, you son of a bitch.”
Rupe continued to glower at him, but Dale knew better than anyone that the former ADA was good at thinking on his feet. Even in a tight spot like this, he would be searching for an angle that would turn the situation to his advantage. Knowing this about his nemesis, Dale wasn’t surprised when Rupe cut to the chase.
“The Lystons’ younger daughter. Remember her? Bellamy? She’s written a book.”
“Old news, Rupe. Low Pressure. I know all about it. I also know about the tabloid writer who’s exploiting it. I stopped on my way here to gas up and saw today’s issue in a rack by the register. Bet the cashier would’ve been blown away if she’d known she was selling a copy to one of the featured personalities.
“I fared better than you, Rupe,” Dale continued conversationally. “I was only mentioned as the ‘former lead investigator, unavailable for comment.’ But Van Durbin went on at some length about you. Reading between the lines, I’d say he wasn’t all that impressed with your public service to Travis County. He said you couldn’t give him a ‘definitive’ answer when he asked you about hard evidence, which in this case was a pair of lacy underwear. Van Durbin relished that.”
“I read it.” Rupe lifted the makeshift ice pack from his nose, looked with disgust at the imprint his blood had made on it, then tossed it aside. It landed on the pavement near his feet with a loud splat. Rupe looked down at it and used that opportunity to take in the parking lot at a glance.
“Nobody’s around,” Dale told him. “Nobody to rush to your rescue. Which is your own fault for parking way out here at the edge of the lot. What? Ar
e you scared somebody will notice you coming and going out of that young lady’s apartment up there?
“You really should choose another place for your shabby rendezvous, Rupe, or you’re liable to get caught with your pants down. How old is she, anyhow? Eighteen? Nineteen at a stretch? Is she even legal? Shame on you, diddlin’ a girl too young to buy beer. You being a church deacon and all.”
If looks could kill, Dale would be dead. “Your pal Haymaker?” Rupe spat. “Is he your snitch?”
Ignoring that, Dale continued taunting him just for the hell of it, just because it felt good. “Does your wife know you’re banging a hot young thing? Come to think of it, your missus might not be all that upset about it. She might be glad to learn you can still get it up.” Dale leaned in and whispered, “But you’d better hope Van Durbin doesn’t get wind of it.”
Rupe scoffed. “He has a column in a cheap rag that people line their birdcages with. So what? What harm can he really do me?”
“Austin’s King of Cars?” Dale mocked.
Rupe wiped dripping blood from the end of his nose and shook it off his fingers. “That was the ad man’s suggestion.”
“Whatever, Rupe. Whatever. You’ve done real good for yourself. But it could all go away like that.” He snapped his fingers half an inch from Rupe’s brutalized face.
“You think I’m scared of Van Durbin?”
“No, but you’re scared shitless of me.” Dale crowded in on him. “First the book, and now Van Durbin, have stirred up the dust, but I’m the one who could choke you on it.”
“You’d choke, too.”
“But I don’t have anything to lose.”
With both hands, Rupe pushed against Dale’s broad chest. Dale fell back a step, and Rupe gave him and his car a scornful once-over. “That’s readily apparent.”
Dale ignored the insult. “You, on the other hand, have made a large target of yourself. You’re easy pickin’s for a media crucifixion.”
“Save your threats. If you tried to destroy me, you’d fail.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You’re already beat, you just don’t know it,” Rupe said. “That’s why I’ve been trying to reach you, to tell you that if you get to feeling sentimental about Allen Strickland, law, justice, and the American way, you’ll be digging your own grave and yours alone.”
“If the Susan Lyston case was reopened—”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Beat before you start.” He looked at Dale and shook his head sorrowfully. “Do you think I’d let that case file just languish there in the PD like a ticking time bomb?” He barked a laugh, which caused him to wince with pain. “Hell, no, Dale. That file was adiosed weeks after Strickland’s conviction.”
Dale balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth. “That file contained all my notes on the case.”
“And you were awfully cooperative to hand everything over to me when requested, Dale. I really do appreciate that.”
