Read Online Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood by Jerry B. Jenkins - Free Book Online
Authors: Jerry B. Jenkins
Tags: Fiction, Christian fiction, Religious Fiction, gangs, Fiction - Religious, Chicago (Ill.), Police - Illinois - Chicago
Ads: Link
what was that? It couldn’t be. Why would Jack think to bring Nikki’s Bible?
Boone couldn’t bring himself to peek at the pictures. He also let the Bible lie. It was Nikki who could be found reading it most every day, as casually as the way he leafed through Sports Illustrated or American Police Beat . He kept his own Bible on the shelf next to his gun safe above the refrigerator. He hauled it out for church each weekend, even though Pastor Sosa projected the passages on huge screens. Few people brought their Bibles to church, but to Boone it seemed like part of the Sunday uniform. And it was the one time he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with it.
It was strangely thoughtful of Jack to have brought it, along with the photos. What must he have been thinking? Keller was about the furthest thing from a man of faith or even a church attender. Maybe he thought Boone would find some sentimental value in Nikki’s Bible. And perhaps he would. For the moment, it held nothing else for him. Even if it did, he wasn’t about to give it the chance.
Boone hadn’t really tasted the bits of food he had forced down earlier in the day, but he did taste the sharp cheese and salty crackers. In a strange way, it felt good to have something hit his senses other than abject grief and revulsion. And now he was thirsty.
Should he try the wine? Would it help him sleep? He’d never had any specific conviction against alcohol. His high school and college buddies had enjoyed beer, especially during and after pickup games and of course at Wrigley, Cellular (still called Comiskey back then), and Soldier Field. Boone had tried it and just didn’t care for it. He had tried wine years ago too. To him it smelled like rotten fruit, and in a way that’s what it was. He’d never had enough to get any kind of a buzz.
What would be the harm now? It could only help. He desperately needed sleep, if for no other reason than to allow his brain to idle. He found a large drinking glass and filled it half-full of the red. That was the extent of his knowledge of wines. Red and white. Oh, he knew that the older a wine was, the better it was supposed to be, but it seemed to him, the fresher the better. Why not? That line had always made his friends laugh. Well, Jack Keller said this was cheap stuff, and it bore the name of a grocery store chain, so he sure didn’t have to feel any guilt about sipping away something valuable.
Boone didn’t even have to remove a cork. How convenient, a screw cap. The familiar fermented smell hit him first. He had no idea why people swished wine around in the glass or sniffed it. He would just sip at first, because he did not expect to like it.
And he didn’t. Too strong. Tasty after a fashion, but a little went a long way. He reminded himself that this was medicine, anesthesia, and while his curiosity over the wine and his talking himself into imbibing had for a few seconds channeled his mind elsewhere, there was no hiding what he needed to be numbed to.
Three or four sips, each tasting slightly less strong than the previous, hit the back of his throat with a little jolt, and finally he began to feel a bit of the mellowing it was supposed to provide. He certainly wasn’t high, but something was happening. He mustered his courage and took a healthy swallow.
That was a mistake. His friends never guzzled wine like they did beer, and now he knew why. It was meant to be sipped. But as he wasn’t drinking for enjoyment but rather for lubrication, he decided to just finish off the glass. Whew, boy. A little dizzy. Would fatigue follow, the kind that would actually allow him to sleep or at least doze? He could only hope.
As Boone cleared the table and tidied up, he felt lightheaded and sick to his stomach. That wasn’t all bad. Any feeling other than despair had to be positive. He sat at the kitchen table and breathed heavily for a few minutes. Something was going on inside. Going to bed was worth a try.
Boone staggered
Boone couldn’t bring himself to peek at the pictures. He also let the Bible lie. It was Nikki who could be found reading it most every day, as casually as the way he leafed through Sports Illustrated or American Police Beat . He kept his own Bible on the shelf next to his gun safe above the refrigerator. He hauled it out for church each weekend, even though Pastor Sosa projected the passages on huge screens. Few people brought their Bibles to church, but to Boone it seemed like part of the Sunday uniform. And it was the one time he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with it.
It was strangely thoughtful of Jack to have brought it, along with the photos. What must he have been thinking? Keller was about the furthest thing from a man of faith or even a church attender. Maybe he thought Boone would find some sentimental value in Nikki’s Bible. And perhaps he would. For the moment, it held nothing else for him. Even if it did, he wasn’t about to give it the chance.
Boone hadn’t really tasted the bits of food he had forced down earlier in the day, but he did taste the sharp cheese and salty crackers. In a strange way, it felt good to have something hit his senses other than abject grief and revulsion. And now he was thirsty.
Should he try the wine? Would it help him sleep? He’d never had any specific conviction against alcohol. His high school and college buddies had enjoyed beer, especially during and after pickup games and of course at Wrigley, Cellular (still called Comiskey back then), and Soldier Field. Boone had tried it and just didn’t care for it. He had tried wine years ago too. To him it smelled like rotten fruit, and in a way that’s what it was. He’d never had enough to get any kind of a buzz.
What would be the harm now? It could only help. He desperately needed sleep, if for no other reason than to allow his brain to idle. He found a large drinking glass and filled it half-full of the red. That was the extent of his knowledge of wines. Red and white. Oh, he knew that the older a wine was, the better it was supposed to be, but it seemed to him, the fresher the better. Why not? That line had always made his friends laugh. Well, Jack Keller said this was cheap stuff, and it bore the name of a grocery store chain, so he sure didn’t have to feel any guilt about sipping away something valuable.
Boone didn’t even have to remove a cork. How convenient, a screw cap. The familiar fermented smell hit him first. He had no idea why people swished wine around in the glass or sniffed it. He would just sip at first, because he did not expect to like it.
And he didn’t. Too strong. Tasty after a fashion, but a little went a long way. He reminded himself that this was medicine, anesthesia, and while his curiosity over the wine and his talking himself into imbibing had for a few seconds channeled his mind elsewhere, there was no hiding what he needed to be numbed to.
Three or four sips, each tasting slightly less strong than the previous, hit the back of his throat with a little jolt, and finally he began to feel a bit of the mellowing it was supposed to provide. He certainly wasn’t high, but something was happening. He mustered his courage and took a healthy swallow.
That was a mistake. His friends never guzzled wine like they did beer, and now he knew why. It was meant to be sipped. But as he wasn’t drinking for enjoyment but rather for lubrication, he decided to just finish off the glass. Whew, boy. A little dizzy. Would fatigue follow, the kind that would actually allow him to sleep or at least doze? He could only hope.
As Boone cleared the table and tidied up, he felt lightheaded and sick to his stomach. That wasn’t all bad. Any feeling other than despair had to be positive. He sat at the kitchen table and breathed heavily for a few minutes. Something was going on inside. Going to bed was worth a try.
Boone staggered
Similar Books
