Read Online Marked Man II - 02 by Jared Paul - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jared Paul
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the page.
Hours earlier the waitress from Stacey’s had fallen asleep, and was lying on her side facing away, curled up in the sheets. After the aerobics Bollier had tried to go to sleep herself but failed. Instead she lay awake and stared at the ceiling as her mind raced.
Wide awake, Bollier stared at the ceiling fan and listened to it cutting the warm air, or she turned and watched the waitress sleep. The waitress’ back was bare and rising and falling gently with her breathing. The longer she watched her the more envious she became. Several times in the night Bollier almost got up to fix herself a cup of tea, or fiddle around the bedroom, but she resisted these impulses. She was a miserable insomniac but waking the girl just to have someone to talk too seemed unspeakably selfish. So, Bollier lay awake, restless and feeling like her eyes were going to bleed.
It was almost three in the morning when the call came in. Her experience as a detective taught her that nothing good came at that hour, but Bollier welcomed the distraction. Anything to occupy her mind. She got up and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Bollier pulled the door closed as she left and she snuck a peek at the bed. The waitress was stirring.
Clad in a thin nightgown, Bollier ambled through the shadows and stepped out onto the balcony. Twelve floors below, the city emitted a low, steady hum of activity like a beehive. She called the number from the page and a woman with an unmistakable Jersey accent picked up.
“Montville Police Department.”
“Yes, this is Detective Leslie Bollier with the NYPD. I got a page?”
“Okay, one moment. Let me connect you.”
A recording of Bruce Springsteen’s Blinded by the Light played while her call was transferred. As she listened to the song Bollier sensed movement in the apartment. The waitress was up and moving about. Wanting no interruption, Bollier reached out with her toes and slid the balcony door shut. The song was almost finished when a man’s voice came through.
“This is Irving.”
“Yes hello, Irving. This is Leslie Bollier. We met a few nights ago when you brought in the Prokorov brothers.”
“Ah. Uh huh. Yeah.”
Bollier was not encouraged by the tone of his response.
“You paged me. What’s going on?”
Sergeant Irving talked for a couple of minutes and told detective Bollier what had become of Alexei and Timur Prokorov. When he was through he apologized a dozen times. Bollier should have been angry, but she instead told him not to blame himself and then thanked him for taking the time to call and then hung up.
The waitress was lounging in the loveseat, wearing nothing but one of Bollier’s white collar shirts for work. Bollier left the balcony open as she came back into the apartment. A gentle summer breeze blew in from 8th Avenue, sending the detective’s nightgown into motion like a flag caught in a full gale of wind. For a moment Bollier let her eyes wander up the waitress’ legs, then the folds of the shirt until she met the girl’s expectant eyes.
“That was work,” she said. The waitress blinked.
“You should probably go.”
Chapter Five
Agent Clemons had just returned from lunch when he found the Director in his office, sitting in his chair reading through a file on the recently deceased Prokorov brothers. The Director had never visited his corner of the building before and Agent Clemons wasn’t sure how to proceed, so he knocked on the door to his own office.
“Come in.”
“Yes sir.”
Agent Clemons obeyed but there were no other chairs in his office so he remained standing at attention, hands folded together behind his back.
The Director’s hand brushed at his moustache and his eyes narrowed at the page in front of him. It was the autopsy report for the younger brother, Timur. Without having to see Agent Clemons knew that the Director was
Hours earlier the waitress from Stacey’s had fallen asleep, and was lying on her side facing away, curled up in the sheets. After the aerobics Bollier had tried to go to sleep herself but failed. Instead she lay awake and stared at the ceiling as her mind raced.
Wide awake, Bollier stared at the ceiling fan and listened to it cutting the warm air, or she turned and watched the waitress sleep. The waitress’ back was bare and rising and falling gently with her breathing. The longer she watched her the more envious she became. Several times in the night Bollier almost got up to fix herself a cup of tea, or fiddle around the bedroom, but she resisted these impulses. She was a miserable insomniac but waking the girl just to have someone to talk too seemed unspeakably selfish. So, Bollier lay awake, restless and feeling like her eyes were going to bleed.
It was almost three in the morning when the call came in. Her experience as a detective taught her that nothing good came at that hour, but Bollier welcomed the distraction. Anything to occupy her mind. She got up and left the bedroom as quietly as she could. Bollier pulled the door closed as she left and she snuck a peek at the bed. The waitress was stirring.
Clad in a thin nightgown, Bollier ambled through the shadows and stepped out onto the balcony. Twelve floors below, the city emitted a low, steady hum of activity like a beehive. She called the number from the page and a woman with an unmistakable Jersey accent picked up.
“Montville Police Department.”
“Yes, this is Detective Leslie Bollier with the NYPD. I got a page?”
“Okay, one moment. Let me connect you.”
A recording of Bruce Springsteen’s Blinded by the Light played while her call was transferred. As she listened to the song Bollier sensed movement in the apartment. The waitress was up and moving about. Wanting no interruption, Bollier reached out with her toes and slid the balcony door shut. The song was almost finished when a man’s voice came through.
“This is Irving.”
“Yes hello, Irving. This is Leslie Bollier. We met a few nights ago when you brought in the Prokorov brothers.”
“Ah. Uh huh. Yeah.”
Bollier was not encouraged by the tone of his response.
“You paged me. What’s going on?”
Sergeant Irving talked for a couple of minutes and told detective Bollier what had become of Alexei and Timur Prokorov. When he was through he apologized a dozen times. Bollier should have been angry, but she instead told him not to blame himself and then thanked him for taking the time to call and then hung up.
The waitress was lounging in the loveseat, wearing nothing but one of Bollier’s white collar shirts for work. Bollier left the balcony open as she came back into the apartment. A gentle summer breeze blew in from 8th Avenue, sending the detective’s nightgown into motion like a flag caught in a full gale of wind. For a moment Bollier let her eyes wander up the waitress’ legs, then the folds of the shirt until she met the girl’s expectant eyes.
“That was work,” she said. The waitress blinked.
“You should probably go.”
Chapter Five
Agent Clemons had just returned from lunch when he found the Director in his office, sitting in his chair reading through a file on the recently deceased Prokorov brothers. The Director had never visited his corner of the building before and Agent Clemons wasn’t sure how to proceed, so he knocked on the door to his own office.
“Come in.”
“Yes sir.”
Agent Clemons obeyed but there were no other chairs in his office so he remained standing at attention, hands folded together behind his back.
The Director’s hand brushed at his moustache and his eyes narrowed at the page in front of him. It was the autopsy report for the younger brother, Timur. Without having to see Agent Clemons knew that the Director was
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