He knew every man in the room. And me.He placed a tape recorder on the table, Bulldog would have a tape recorder, wouldn’t he? He pointed to George Eugene Randolph who had played football for the Army during the Korean conflict. Bulldog said, “You first.”He went around the room, one by one, recording impressions, guesses, remembered images.I was in Notes, typing furiously before I began losing what I’d memorized.Daddy was next to arrive; it’s not that far from Brookside to the Crossroads. Forty-some blocks north with a flasher on his car roof.He gave me a quick hug and read my hastily jotted notes while he listened to man after man speak into Bulldog’s recorder.It wasn’t the crime that brought Bulldog out. It was the men who’d been robbed. Players, some of them. Respected, most of them. Connected, a couple of them.Daddy came because of me. Probably I’m his favorite daughter.When it was my turn I started with my money, “I brought...”Herb Finn jumped in, “Two hundred dollars.”Another. ’ ‘I’m very safe, Elizabeth,’ I stated. ‘Give me your wallet.’ ‘What?’ ‘Give me your wallet!’ ‘Okay, sure.’ She took my wallet without even moving her head, still looking off to the growing darkness to the west. She popped open the fold to where my license showed, and looked down. ‘Jackson Thompson Junior. Your dad was Jackson Thompson too?’ ‘My grandfather too, but my dad didn’t go by junior.’ ‘I like family traditions. Okay, Jackson. Come up to the house when you’re done.’ ‘Thanks, Elizabeth. I’ll do that.’ ‘Call me Elly, please.’ ‘Jack.’ ‘See you soon, Jack.’ ‘Thanks.’ I got out of the car and Elly sped off to answer the screaming from the monitor. Looking off to the west I realized I had to hurry if I was going to keep from being soaked. The tarp was a great plus and I quickly spread it under the back of the Land Rover. It took me a few minutes to analyze how to get the spare off and a bit of finesse to get the screw undone and the tire off. Next, I retrieved the scissor jack.
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