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Just in time for Valentine's Day,
the Guardian in London has
reviewed and raved about
The Secret Language of Sleep.
And, for the rest of the week,
you can buy it for $5!
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- - - - [The following excerpt comes from Issue No. 10: McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales.] - - - - T H E F A T E O F A Carlos Webster was fifteen years old the time he witnessed the robbery and murder at Deering's drugstore. It was in the summer of 1921. He told Bud Maddox, the Okmulgee chief of police, he had driven a load of cows up to the yard at Tulsa and by the time he got back it was dark. He said he left the stock trailer across the street from Deering's and went inside to get an ice cream cone. When he identified one of the robbers as Frank Miller, Bud Maddox said, "Son, Frank Miller robs banks, he don't bother with drugstores no more." Carlos had been raised on hard work and respect for his elders. He said, "I could be wrong," knowing he wasn't. They brought him over to police headquarters in the courthouse to look at photos. He pointed to Frank Miller staring at him from a $500 wanted bulletin and picked the other one, Jim Ray Monks, from mug shots. Bud Maddox said, "You're positive, huh?" and asked Carlos which one was it shot the Indian. Meaning Junior Harjo with the tribal police, who'd walked in not knowing the store was being robbed. "Was Frank Miller shot him," Carlos said, "with a .45 Colt." "You sure it was a Colt?" "Navy issue, like my dad's." "I'm teasing," Bud Maddox said. He and Carlos' dad Virgil Webster were buddies, both having fought in the Spanish-American War and for a number of years were the local heroes; but now doughboys were back from France telling about the Great War over there. "If you like to know what I think happened," Carlos said, "Frank Miller only came in for a pack of smokes." Bud Maddox stopped him. "Tell it from the time you got there." Okay, well, the reason was to get an ice cream cone. "Mr. Deering was in back doing prescriptions — he looked out of that little window and told me to help myself. So I went over to the soda fountain and scooped up a double dip of peach on a sugar cone and went up to the cigar counter and left a nickel by the cash register. That's where I was when I see these two men come in wearing suits and hats I thought at first were salesmen. Mr. Deering calls to me to wait on them as I know the store pretty well. Frank Miller comes up to the counter— " "You knew right away who he was?" "Once he was close, yes sir, from pictures of him in the paper. He said to give him a deck of Luckies. I did and he picks up the nickel I'd left by the register? Hands it to me and says, 'This ought to cover it.'" "You tell him it was yours?" "No sir." "Or a pack of Luckies was fifteen cents?"
TAKE IN THE SWEETLY SATISFYING CONCLUSION, AVAILABLE ONLY IN McSWEENEY'S MAMMOTH TREASURY OF THRILLING TALES. - - - - Elmore Leonard is the author of many books, including Rum Punch and Cubre Libre. He lives outside Detroit.
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