Chapter 3
Good Guy
IT WAS LATE MORNING when I woke up. I had a small headache, but as it was the first one I’d had in more than two years it didn’t count much. The papers came up with the ham and eggs and coffee. The tabloids were playing Dot big— and they’d got wise to a lot of things. My picture was smeared around, next to Dot’s. They’d found out I’d been turned loose just before Dot had gone away from earthly things, and the flat-faced cab driver had talked. The chief of police of the river town was quoted as saying that I’d be in custody soon. He had some questions to ask me. My picture showed that I was tall, lean, and smooth-shaven. It didn’t show much else. Another tabloid had a close-up. I looked almost handsome. It was a silly picture. My lips were too full and my eyes too soulf
