Goodey's Last Stand: A Hard Boiled Mystery (Joe Goodey) - Plot & Excerpts
As I drove southwest on Market Street toward the old people’s home beyond Twin Peaks, it occurred to me that this job had more old men in it than the Supreme Court At the entrance to the home, I found a gatekeeper sitting in an outsized telephone booth with a Zane Grey novel in his shiny lap. He looked like a retired mess sergeant—too young to die, too lazy to do anything. “Sorry,” he said without looking the least bit sorry, “visiting hours are two to five pee-em. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” That took care of me, he figured, so he let his heavy eyes fall back to the book. “This isn’t social,” I said. “It’s business.” I gave him a good look at the P.I. card. He must have had a firm grip on his chair because he didn’t fall out of it. “Visiting hours are still from two to five, stud,” he said. “Try tomorrow. Sunday’s a barrel of laughs around here.” “Sorry,”
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