Read Online Bad Men (2003) by John Connolly - Free Book Online

He was asking me about insurance.”
    “You sell insurance. People ask you about it all the time.”
    “Yeah, but not like that. The kid acted like he didn’t know what insurance was.”
    “Maybe he had a bad experience once.”
    “Like what?”
    “Like trying to make a claim on your firm.”
    “Very funny. And it’s
our
firm.”
    “I just answer the phones. I don’t sell bum policies.”
    “They’re not bum policies. Jesus, you talk like that to other people about what we do?”
    “If they’re not bum policies, how come they don’t pay out like they should?”
    “It’s complicated.”
    “Explain it to me.”
    “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Fuck you, Harry.”
    “Now where is he going?”
    Ahead of them, the Ford had made a right and was pulling up in front of an old farmhouse. The kid got out of the car and walked up the steps to the door, then opened it and disappeared inside.
    “I don’t believe this,” said Harry.
    He followed the driveway until he reached the old Ford. The place looked as if it had seen better days and could now hardly remember them. Trees bordered the yard, but it wasn’t clear why they were needed because Harry couldn’t see another house anywhere nearby. Once this might have been a working farm. There was a barn off to the right, and Harry saw a rusting John Deere standing in the open door, but its tires were flat and its exhaust was severed. He glimpsed overgrown fields through the trees, but nothing had been harvested from them in a very long time. The only thing being farmed here was dirt and weeds. It was quiet too: no dogs, no people, hell, not even a couple of scrawny chickens trying to survive on dust and stray seeds. A porch ran along the front of the house, great teardrops of white paint flaking from it. Paint was falling too from the facade, and from the window frames and the door. The whole house seemed to be weeping.
    Harry opened the car door and called after their guide.
    “Hey, kid! What’s the deal?”
    There was no reply, and suddenly Harry, who considered himself a calm man, all things considered, lost it.
    “Fuck!” he shouted. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”
    He climbed out of the car and stomped up to the house. Behind him, he heard Veronica telling him to wait up. He ignored her. All he wanted to do now was get back on the highway, find a hotel, and hit the bar. Hell, maybe they might just drive into the night until they got to Augusta, and screw the idea of taking their time and kicking back along the way. Veronica could just kiss his ass.
    He reached the door and peered into the house. The entrance led straight into a living room. All the drapes were drawn and the room was shrouded in darkness. He could see the shapes of chairs, and a TV in the corner. Facing him was a kitchen and, beside that, a bedroom that had been converted to storage. To his left, a flight of stairs led up to the second story.
    Despite the heat, all of the windows were closed. There was no sign of the pretty boy.
    Harry stepped inside, and his nose wrinkled. Something smelled bad in here, he thought. He heard flies buzzing.
    “What’s happening?” said Veronica, and there was that whining tone to her voice again, except this time Harry barely noticed it.
    “Stay there,” he called back. “And lock the car doors.”
    “What—”
    “For Christ’s sake, just do it!”
    She was quiet then, but he heard a snapping sound as the doors locked. Beyond him, the darkness remained untroubled by sound or movement, but for the noise of the insects, still invisible to him.
    Harry stepped into the house.
     
     
    Many miles to the north, two police officers sat at a table in the Sebago Brewing Company in Portland’s Old Port. It was shortly after four o’clock and already growing dark. There were few tourists around at this time of year, and the streets, like the bar, were quiet. There was talk of a storm brewing, and the coming of snow.
    “I like it better without the tourists,”