![New York Nights [Virex 01]](/res/dh/book4.jpg)
Read Online New York Nights [Virex 01] by Eric Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eric Brown
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little leaner - but the thought of asking questions around the Scumbar did not appeal.
He’d made a good move five years ago when he’d invited Hal to join him at the agency. They got on fine from their police days down at the Department. It was not long after Estelle’s death, and the thought of running the agency alone had filled him with despair. When Estelle was alive, he’d had someone he could bring his troubles home to, someone he could talk to about a case. The months after her death had been hard. Looking back, he wondered how he’d seen them through. The cases came in, and he’d put his head down and worked hard. Some cases he solved and others he didn’t, and the usual proportion ended up as suicides or murder victims. So soon after losing his wife of almost thirty-five years, the succession of tragic stories wore him down, and it was either quit the agency, sell it for peanuts, or get someone else in to shoulder some of the workload.
One day he’d bumped into Hal out on patrol, and the guy had looked as down as Barney felt. His long-term affair with an old girlfriend was through - she’d chucked him out, Barney gathered - and the file work was getting him down, so Barney made him the offer. Hal had said he’d think about it, get back to him by the end of the week, and what did you know, but a day later Barney got a call and Hal said that if the offer was still on, he’d take it.
Kluger and Halliday, Private Detectives: Missing Persons A Speciality. It had a certain ring.
Barney glanced at his watch. It was eight-thirty, and while Hal was usually punctual from his days with the force, he had been known to be half an hour late before. Even so, it was unlike Hal not to call him and explain what was happening.
He tapped Hal’s code into the desk-com and waited. There was no reply . . . Barney smiled to himself. Hal was probably in Olga’s, warming himself with a coffee, his com turned off.
A year ago, business had been going through a bad patch. The cases hadn’t been coming in, and those that had had been bummers, bad earners that had lasted barely a day or two. Hal had seemed pretty low, though it was hard to tell with Hal: he wasn’t the kind of guy to open up with his emotions and spill his heart out. He hadn’t had a woman, so far as Barney was aware, for years. He was beginning to get that haunted, introverted look in his eyes that Barney recognised from his dealings with no-hopers and terminal sociopaths.
Barney started noticing this kid around the place, ten months or so ago. Tiny Chinese girl, slim as a broom, cute-faced, always running upstairs to the loft with Chinese take-outs. So Barney, knowing how Hal would never get round to saying anything if he wasn’t asked, had delayed him as he was about to go out on a case, and said, ‘Hey, Hal, notice you’re eating a little Chinese these days . . .’
Hal had opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and just stared at Barney, nonplussed. Finally he’d said, ‘Trust Barney, Manhattan’s finest private detective.’
‘What’s her name, Hal?’
So Hal had told Barney about her. He was still at that stage with the girl where he didn’t believe his luck - she had just stepped into his life and demanded that he love her - a tall order for someone as distant as Hal. He’d seen him change over the months, though, come in some small degree to reciprocate the affection that Kim Long lavished on him. Not that it was all sweetness and light. The kid had a temper like a Chinese dragon and could go off like a firecracker, to mix metaphors. Then Hal would go quiet, tend to lie low, and spend a few hours with Barney at Olga’s, sampling the whole range of wheat beers imported from the Ukraine.
Barney had got to know Kim over the weeks after she moved in, saw that beneath the cutesy exterior she was a shrewd businesswoman. She knew how to turn a quick profit and was on top of all the
He’d made a good move five years ago when he’d invited Hal to join him at the agency. They got on fine from their police days down at the Department. It was not long after Estelle’s death, and the thought of running the agency alone had filled him with despair. When Estelle was alive, he’d had someone he could bring his troubles home to, someone he could talk to about a case. The months after her death had been hard. Looking back, he wondered how he’d seen them through. The cases came in, and he’d put his head down and worked hard. Some cases he solved and others he didn’t, and the usual proportion ended up as suicides or murder victims. So soon after losing his wife of almost thirty-five years, the succession of tragic stories wore him down, and it was either quit the agency, sell it for peanuts, or get someone else in to shoulder some of the workload.
One day he’d bumped into Hal out on patrol, and the guy had looked as down as Barney felt. His long-term affair with an old girlfriend was through - she’d chucked him out, Barney gathered - and the file work was getting him down, so Barney made him the offer. Hal had said he’d think about it, get back to him by the end of the week, and what did you know, but a day later Barney got a call and Hal said that if the offer was still on, he’d take it.
Kluger and Halliday, Private Detectives: Missing Persons A Speciality. It had a certain ring.
Barney glanced at his watch. It was eight-thirty, and while Hal was usually punctual from his days with the force, he had been known to be half an hour late before. Even so, it was unlike Hal not to call him and explain what was happening.
He tapped Hal’s code into the desk-com and waited. There was no reply . . . Barney smiled to himself. Hal was probably in Olga’s, warming himself with a coffee, his com turned off.
A year ago, business had been going through a bad patch. The cases hadn’t been coming in, and those that had had been bummers, bad earners that had lasted barely a day or two. Hal had seemed pretty low, though it was hard to tell with Hal: he wasn’t the kind of guy to open up with his emotions and spill his heart out. He hadn’t had a woman, so far as Barney was aware, for years. He was beginning to get that haunted, introverted look in his eyes that Barney recognised from his dealings with no-hopers and terminal sociopaths.
Barney started noticing this kid around the place, ten months or so ago. Tiny Chinese girl, slim as a broom, cute-faced, always running upstairs to the loft with Chinese take-outs. So Barney, knowing how Hal would never get round to saying anything if he wasn’t asked, had delayed him as he was about to go out on a case, and said, ‘Hey, Hal, notice you’re eating a little Chinese these days . . .’
Hal had opened his mouth to say something, closed it again and just stared at Barney, nonplussed. Finally he’d said, ‘Trust Barney, Manhattan’s finest private detective.’
‘What’s her name, Hal?’
So Hal had told Barney about her. He was still at that stage with the girl where he didn’t believe his luck - she had just stepped into his life and demanded that he love her - a tall order for someone as distant as Hal. He’d seen him change over the months, though, come in some small degree to reciprocate the affection that Kim Long lavished on him. Not that it was all sweetness and light. The kid had a temper like a Chinese dragon and could go off like a firecracker, to mix metaphors. Then Hal would go quiet, tend to lie low, and spend a few hours with Barney at Olga’s, sampling the whole range of wheat beers imported from the Ukraine.
Barney had got to know Kim over the weeks after she moved in, saw that beneath the cutesy exterior she was a shrewd businesswoman. She knew how to turn a quick profit and was on top of all the
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