Murder in Dogleg City
“But then he remembered Rupe in the back room, hopefully sleeping off whatever fumes were left of the previous night’s toot—unless he’d already wandered off for another poke at the liquor windmill.
Gardner clunked on into his office and hung on the door a moment. “Rupe? You still here?”
He waited a second, heard nothing, then closed the door and dropped his hat on the desktop. He laced his fingers through his hair and sighed. A grunt sounded from the back room. Gardner smiled.
The lawman walked over and leaned against the doorframe. The skinny one-armed drunk lay on his back, eyes closed, his tongue, no doubt feeling dry and wooden, ran slowly inside his mouth, smacking his lips, then he groaned again.
“I figure you might want to get on out of here, maybe get a bite and a beer. What do you say, Rupe?” Sam knew he had Rupe at the word “beer,” but he pulled a straight face.
The drunk laid his right hand on the edge of the cot, grunted his way upright, and planted feet to the floor.
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