Read Online At the City's Edge by Marcus Sakey - Free Book Online Page B

seventeen. Only the government would need a form to prove it.
    He settled into his chair with a sigh, laced his hands across his belly. The half-empty bottle of Beefeater on his desk caught
     the light, split it into slow-dancing rainbows. A couple of swigs would ease the pain in his head, the burn in his belly.
     He looked away, closed his eyes, watched patterns of red and black as he searched for his own strength. When the phone rang,
     he answered half-alert.
    ‘Dr. Matthews, it’s Adam Kent.’ The voice harried.
    ‘Mr. Kent.’ Washington jerked upright, eyes snapping open. ‘How are you?’
    ‘Up to my ears. I’ve got a shipment of parts two weeks overdue from South Korea and four separate inspectors asking for bribes.’
     The man sighed. ‘How’s life in the gangster-reform business?’
    ‘Oh, we’re fine here.’ He put on his whitest voice, trying for a tone appropriate for dealing with a millionaire entrepreneur
     and philanthropist. ‘One day at a time.’
    ‘Don’t I know it. Your party’s in three days. You rent a tux yet?’
    Shit.
‘Yes.’
    ‘Good. Listen, the alderman just called. He wants to meet again. Some last details he’s worried about, something about your
     history?’

    Talons seized Washington’s belly. ‘My history?’
    ‘Yeah, I don’t know. I’m sure it’s nothing. Tomorrow afternoon?’
    ‘Ah… of course.’
    ‘Good. I’ll bring a check.’
    ‘A check?’
    ‘You didn’t think I was going to give you five hundred thousand dollars in a duffel bag?’
    ‘No, I just…’ Washington sighed. ‘Honestly, Mr. Kent, I’m not used to dealing with this kind of thing. Parties and politics
     and big donations. Tax forms. I just…’ He rubbed his aching eyeballs with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I help kids.’
    ‘I know.’ The voice warm. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’ll get it cleared up, what ever it is, and let you get back to the important
     stuff. Okay?’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘Good. Tomorrow.’
    Washington hung up, head buzzing, the way it did every time he thought about the money. Half a
million
dollars. Enough to build out the basement with bunks and a bathroom. Buy computers and training manuals. Pay for certification
     classes. Tattoo removal. Transit cards so the boys could find work. Hell, maybe even hire a full-time tutor. Plus food, utilities,
     and maintenance for years. Enough to turn the house his mother had left him into a proper gang-recovery center.
    His eyes fell on the silver picture frame on the desk, a faded Sunday portrait. A woman with ink-dark skin, her hair pinned
     primly beneath a hat with a spray of
black lace. Gloves, and her blouse buttoned to the neck. Her lips were smiling, but at the same time she squinted against
     the sun, and it played like a battle on her features. Beside her stood a boy of twelve, thirteen, wearing a Salvation Army
     suit and a sullen expression.
    Photos had strange power. A moment frozen in silver and paper. The way the sun fell in the woman’s eyes, the blurred motion
     of summer trees, those things would never come again.
    The boy in the photo didn’t know that in four years he would kill a child half his age. The woman dragging her son to church
     didn’t know he was already lost to her. These things hadn’t happened yet. Had they been inevitable, even then? Was it just
     a matter of waiting for the world to catch up?
    He didn’t know. The world had kept turning, and things had happened. The relationship between the two, he couldn’t say. All
     he knew was that thirty years ago, Sally Matthews had forced her son to go to church for what had turned out to be one of
     the last times. And all that remained of that lost moment was a piece of paper.
    I’m trying, Mama. Every day, I’m trying.
    There was a knock at the door, and it pulled him from his reverie. He started to tell whoever it was to come in, but the door
     was already opening. Something must be wrong. Washington straightened, expecting to hear