Read Online Sacrifice Fly by Tim O'Mara - Free Book Online Page A

case.”
    “The cops didn’t call you about the missing kids?”
    “His name’s Frankie,” I said. “The sister’s Milagros. And I don’t give a shit what
     the papers said. He didn’t kill his dad. The cops called the school and got some background
     on Frankie, that’s all.”
    Edgar leaned over. “They asking you for help?”
    “No. They’re not.”
    “Why not, man? You found the body. You used to be a cop.”
    “Used to be, Edgar.” I tapped the side of my head with my forefinger. “Think.”
    “Come on, Raymond. One call to your uncle, and you—”
    “The cops are not going to let me nose around because of who my uncle is. You want
     to know how the case is progressing, keep reading the papers. Maybe they’ll actually
     print a few facts. Or stay at home and listen to your illegal scanner.”
    Edgar gave me a look, took a sip from his pint, and said, “I like you better when
     you’re on the other side of the bar.” He slid off his stool and headed toward the
     men’s room.
    “Me, too,” I said.
    “You’re too young to be talking to yourself, Raymond.”
    I spun around. “And they said your husband was good at surveillance,” I said, accepting
     a kiss on the cheek from Mrs. McVernon.
    “Taught him everything he knew,” she said. “How are you?”
    “I’m fine.” I could tell she wasn’t buying that, so I added, “I was hoping that Frankie
     and his sister would show up today. The longer they’re out there, the…”
    “Greater the chance something bad happened to them?”
    “Yeah.” Spoken like a cop’s wife.
    “I’m sure they’ll be fine, Raymond. Probably be home for dinner tomorrow.”
    “That’d be nice,” I said.
    “I just got off the phone with Billy. We’re all set for Saturday. He’s tickled pink
     that you’ll be here.”
    Nice redirection. “Billy Morris does not get ‘tickled pink,’ Mrs. Mac.”
    “Anyways, we’re all staffed, the distributor’s going to make an extra delivery tomorrow
     so we’ll be stocked for the Q, and Billy’s taking care of the food.”
    “Then you don’t really need me,” I said.
    “Don’t even think of it, Ray,” Mikey said as he put my dinner in front of me. “You
     are here Saturday.”
    “What happened to owing me one?”
    “I’ll owe ya two, after the Q.” He laughed. “Hey, that rhymes.” He turned away and
     headed to the other end of the bar singing, “Owe ya two, after the Q.”
    Edgar returned. “Easy, Mrs. Mac. Raymond’s not in a very good mood this evening.”
    “He’s just fine, Emo.” Mrs. Mac patted me on the shoulder. “He’s just got a lot on
     his mind these days. You boys enjoy the night. I’m going home to call my grandson.”
    “I’ll see you Saturday,” I said.
    “Is noon too early?”
    “It’s fine, but as soon as the Q gets rolling, so do I.”
    “Thank you, Raymond. Good night, Emo.”
    Edgar bowed his head. “Ma’am.” When Mrs. Mac had gone, Edgar turned back to me. “Why
     can’t you be that nice to me?”
    “Mrs. Mac doesn’t ask a lot of stupid questions.”
    “I thought teachers didn’t believe in stupid questions.”
    “Yeah, a lot of people think that.” I took a bite of my sandwich, a sip of beer, and
     pointed at the newspaper in front of Edgar. “Let me see the sports pages.”
    Edgar knew this was my way of ending any further conversation. He sighed and slid
     the paper to me. I turned right to the box scores: the only part of the paper I could
     trust. Box scores don’t lie or imply, they just are, and if you know how to read them—I
     mean really read them—you can get the whole story of a game you didn’t see a single
     pitch of. Life would be a lot less confusing if people could just sum up their days
     in little one-by-three-inch boxes.
    I checked out a half dozen games before I finished my dinner. I pushed the paper away,
     and signaled to Mikey for another beer. I also pointed at Edgar’s. The least I could
     do was buy him a round