Read Online Envy the Night by Michael Koryta - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Koryta
Ads: Link
was still locked. To open it she’d have to turn her back to him, and that didn’t seem like a good idea.
“You’re going to listen to me, hon, and listen good,” he said, and a sour chill went through her stomach, the words and tone sounding like something a drunk would say as he advanced on his wife with a belt in hand. “You got no problem here, okay? Just tell me where the guy who drove this car went, and I’m gone.”
“I’ll ask you one more time to leave. Then I’m calling the police.”
He didn’t say anything. She gave it a few beats of silence and then went forthe office door. The keys were already in her hand—had been since she sat down on the stool—and she reached for the lock, standing so close to the door her nose almost brushed it when she turned. Had the key raised but not inserted into the lock when his hand closed around her wrist.
Her first reaction was to reach back with her free hand and claw at his face. A year ago, it would’ve made an impression, too—long, French-tipped fingernails—but you didn’t work on cars with nails like that. Now her fingers slid harmlessly over his cheek. So she twisted and kicked at his knee, using her heel instead of the front of her foot. Caught him on the side of his knee, so his leg buckled, and for a moment he was off balance and she thought she’d get free. He didn’t lose his hold on her wrist, though, used it instead to jerk her forward and spin her around and then she felt a wrenching pain in her shoulder and her face hit the door and she knew it was going to get very bad, very fast.
8
__________
T he sign on the door said CLOSED , and there were no lights on in the office. Frank was early, too. So had she forgotten, or was she planning to come back? It was only five twenty. He stood on the sidewalk in front of the body shop with two full grocery bags in his hands and wondered what the hell he should do.
She didn’t seem like the type to forget. Too put together and in control for that. Things had gotten a little hectic there, with the gray-haired guy rushing everybody, and it was possible. She’d said six, though, and that was a while off, so maybe he should just wait.
He set the bags down by the front door and looked around, wondering what Nora Stafford drove. The only car parked on this side of the street was a black Dodge Charger a block away. No cars in the handful of parking spaces in front of the shop. Maybe she’d gone out on another tow. He’d check to see if the truck was still parked behind the shop. If not, he’d wait. If so . . . maybe wait a little less.
Leaving the groceries where they were, he walked around the building and into the back parking lot. There was a wire security fence around the lot to protect the towed vehicles, but the gate was open, suggesting she hadn’t left for the day. He went through the gate and into the parking lot and saw the towtruck parked there, his battered Jeep behind it. Okay, she wasn’t out on a tow. But the gate wasn’t locked, either. So where the hell had she gone?
At first, he thought he’d imagined the cry. Short and muffled, not a scream but a mild sound of outrage, or maybe pain. He tilted his head and listened and heard nothing but silence. Took a few steps toward the back door. Still no sounds, but now he could see light on the other side of the door. Then something fell inside, a clang of metal on concrete.
He saw them as soon as he opened the door. A tall man with his back to Frank, shoving Nora Stafford against a toolbox on the far wall. He had her arm twisted behind her back and his other hand covered her mouth while he used his weight to keep her pinned against that toolbox and spoke in a low voice. Frank probably could have made out the words if he’d tried, but he was already moving, crossing the concrete floor fast and quiet, sidestepping enough to keep himself positioned behind the tall man’s back, out of his line of sight.
It was maybe fifty feet from
“You’re going to listen to me, hon, and listen good,” he said, and a sour chill went through her stomach, the words and tone sounding like something a drunk would say as he advanced on his wife with a belt in hand. “You got no problem here, okay? Just tell me where the guy who drove this car went, and I’m gone.”
“I’ll ask you one more time to leave. Then I’m calling the police.”
He didn’t say anything. She gave it a few beats of silence and then went forthe office door. The keys were already in her hand—had been since she sat down on the stool—and she reached for the lock, standing so close to the door her nose almost brushed it when she turned. Had the key raised but not inserted into the lock when his hand closed around her wrist.
Her first reaction was to reach back with her free hand and claw at his face. A year ago, it would’ve made an impression, too—long, French-tipped fingernails—but you didn’t work on cars with nails like that. Now her fingers slid harmlessly over his cheek. So she twisted and kicked at his knee, using her heel instead of the front of her foot. Caught him on the side of his knee, so his leg buckled, and for a moment he was off balance and she thought she’d get free. He didn’t lose his hold on her wrist, though, used it instead to jerk her forward and spin her around and then she felt a wrenching pain in her shoulder and her face hit the door and she knew it was going to get very bad, very fast.
8
__________
T he sign on the door said CLOSED , and there were no lights on in the office. Frank was early, too. So had she forgotten, or was she planning to come back? It was only five twenty. He stood on the sidewalk in front of the body shop with two full grocery bags in his hands and wondered what the hell he should do.
She didn’t seem like the type to forget. Too put together and in control for that. Things had gotten a little hectic there, with the gray-haired guy rushing everybody, and it was possible. She’d said six, though, and that was a while off, so maybe he should just wait.
He set the bags down by the front door and looked around, wondering what Nora Stafford drove. The only car parked on this side of the street was a black Dodge Charger a block away. No cars in the handful of parking spaces in front of the shop. Maybe she’d gone out on another tow. He’d check to see if the truck was still parked behind the shop. If not, he’d wait. If so . . . maybe wait a little less.
Leaving the groceries where they were, he walked around the building and into the back parking lot. There was a wire security fence around the lot to protect the towed vehicles, but the gate was open, suggesting she hadn’t left for the day. He went through the gate and into the parking lot and saw the towtruck parked there, his battered Jeep behind it. Okay, she wasn’t out on a tow. But the gate wasn’t locked, either. So where the hell had she gone?
At first, he thought he’d imagined the cry. Short and muffled, not a scream but a mild sound of outrage, or maybe pain. He tilted his head and listened and heard nothing but silence. Took a few steps toward the back door. Still no sounds, but now he could see light on the other side of the door. Then something fell inside, a clang of metal on concrete.
He saw them as soon as he opened the door. A tall man with his back to Frank, shoving Nora Stafford against a toolbox on the far wall. He had her arm twisted behind her back and his other hand covered her mouth while he used his weight to keep her pinned against that toolbox and spoke in a low voice. Frank probably could have made out the words if he’d tried, but he was already moving, crossing the concrete floor fast and quiet, sidestepping enough to keep himself positioned behind the tall man’s back, out of his line of sight.
It was maybe fifty feet from
Similar Books
