Read Online Monument to Murder by Margaret Truman - Free Book Online

approached the corner, he thought he heard a noise coming from an alley that ran between his building and the adjoining one. A few more steps brought him even with the dark shaft. It happened fast. Two men who’d been lurking in the alley’s shadows rushed him. The first caught him flush on the side of the face, knocking him to one knee. The second man grabbed him from behind in a stranglehold while the first rammed his fist into his gut, then smashed his nose. Brixton tried to bring up the attaché case as a shield but it was ripped from him. He tumbled face-forward, hands outstretched in search of the case, his momentum bringing his already battered face into contact with the hard sidewalk. He squeezed his eyes closed against the pain in his head; he heard their footsteps as they ran from the scene and disappeared around the corner.
    Brixton remained motionless on the sidewalk until his senses had cleared. He opened his eyes and managed to pull himself up so that he was on all fours, and vigorously shook his head in an attempt to regain some semblance of clarity. He got to his feet, fell, and tried again. This time he was successful, although he was anything but steady. He gently put his fingers to his face. When he pulled them away, they were sticky, wet with his blood. He brought his hand back up to his mouth. No teeth missing. Count your blessings.
    He leaned against the metal grates protecting the stores and used them as props to retrace his steps back to Lazzara’s. He reached the window and looked inside to where Lazzara was busy cleaning up behind the bar. Brixton felt as though he might vomit. Lazzara saw him and rushed through the door. “What the hell?” he said.
    “I need to sit down,” Brixton said.
    “Sure, sure,” Lazzara said, grabbing Brixton’s arm and helping him stay erect as he guided him into the restaurant.
    Brixton slumped on a bar stool.
    “You got mugged?” Lazzara asked.
    “I got jumped. Two guys.” It was at that moment that he realized that his attaché case was gone. “They took my case, dammit! I had pictures from tonight’s assignment. Damn!”
    “Okay, take it easy,” Lazzara said. “You need to see a doc.”
    “No, I’m all right.”
    “The hell you are.”
    Lazzara brought a cloth soaked in cold water from behind the bar and applied it to Brixton’s face. “You’re a mess. Your nose is busted.”
    Brixton pressed his fingers against it and groaned at the pain.
    “Come on, man, you need the ER.”
    Brixton didn’t argue. After telling the chef to lock up, Lazzara walked Brixton to his car and drove him to Memorial Health University Medical Center, in midtown, where Brixton was seen by a young physician. Lazzara had been right: Brixton’s nose was broken. Aside from that, there didn’t appear to be any other serious injuries.
    “How did this happen?” the doctor asked after patching Brixton up.
    “I was jumped by two guys,” Brixton answered.
    “Have you notified the police?”
    “I, ah—I will once I leave here. I was a cop.”
    “Were there weapons involved in the assault?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    Brixton had mentioned to Lazzara during the drive to the hospital that he wasn’t carrying his licensed handgun. “Not that it would have done me any good,” he said. “They were all over me before I could even move my hands.”
    “You didn’t see ’em?” Lazzara asked after they’d left Memorial and were on their way back to the restaurant.
    “Enough to ID them? It was dark and they were quick.”
    “Maybe you shouldn’t go back to your place,” Lazzara suggested.
    “No, it’s okay. I got mugged, that’s all.”
    Which didn’t accurately reflect what he was thinking. Sure, he might have been the victim of a simple street assault, a couple of guys who spotted the attaché case and figured it might contain a million in cash. But that didn’t wash for Brixton. There was more to it than that. How many coincidences could there be in the space