Read Online Serpents in the Cold by Thomas O'Malley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Thomas O'Malley
Ads: Link
nod she gave him when he lit her cigarette. When the band took a short break to refill their glasses, he found her walking to the bathroom, watched the motion of the dress sliding across her hips, the thin material clinging to the cleft of her bottom and the backs of her thighs, and he reached out to her as she passed.
“How about a drink with your brother-in-law?” he said, realizing too late how much it sounded like a pickup line. And even though she smiled, her eyes betrayed her. He gently grabbed her arm and pulled her in closer to a space at the bar and, slurring his words, told her that he’d missed her. He waved to the bartender, Bowie, and asked for another whiskey and a whiskey sour.
When their drinks came, she turned to her table, where her stylish escort sat, gesturing with his hands, beckoning her back. She raised an index finger and mouthed the words “One minute, just one more minute.”
“Who’s the sharp dresser?” Dante asked, and she laughed and her eyes drifted back to the table.
“Just a friend,” she said. Sheila was never a good liar, not to him at least.
“Well, I hope he’s treating you well.” He looked her over for a moment. She had lost some weight and it showed in her face. Gone was the dreamy curiosity she’d often exhibited. It was now replaced with a self-assured elegance. She wore white gloves that ran all the way up to her elbows and made the pink satin dress even more chic, perhaps too much so for an after-hours club like the Pacific. He stared at her gold necklace and the swell of her cleavage. He was about to ask how she could afford such jewelry, but she was already preparing to leave. “Good to see you, Dante,” she said, and he stumbled and pulled her into him and said he loved her. Her body went tight and he loosened his embrace and stepped back.
“It’s been hard for us all,” he said, trying to sound normal despite the anxiety building in his chest and throat. He wanted to say how much he truly cared for her, that they were family, that he loved her and desired her, yes, but before he could utter the words, she extinguished her cigarette, kissed him on the cheek, and said good-bye. That was it. And then she was gone.
PARKING THE CAR off River Street just outside Central Square, Dante walked two streets over to the corner of Winston. The faint odors of chocolate and burnt fudge carried half a mile from the Necco candy factory. He lit another cigarette, exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
He paused before the green house, a square, flat-roofed two-family without a back or front porch. He pushed the doorbell once and then repeated, hearing the sharp buzzing echo in the hallway inside. All the houses in this neighborhood were built in a rush during the first war, and they were squared up tightly on narrow streets and sidewalks barely wide enough to hold a hydrant. He watched two little boys skip on the sidewalk toward him. Each was wearing a tattered sweater that was a size too big. They looked up, chins raised, and stared at him, a look that an adult might give somebody who wasn’t from the neighborhood, and even though they were just children, the look got under his skin.
The door opened, and a voice like a breaking dish made him turn around. “Jesus Christ, look who crossed the bridge! If it ain’t Dante Cooper, it must be whatever is left of his ghost.”
Dante hadn’t seen Karl in over two months. He was wearing a thin robe and a pair of blemished chinos. A beard hid his lopsided chin and thinned over his stick neck, where his Adam’s apple protruded like something infected. His heavy eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t a large man, didn’t look like he’d be much in a fight, but the diseased look usually kept those who wanted to brawl in check; he had the look of a man who found many uses for razor blades besides shaving.
“I was in the neighborhood. Just thought I’d say hello.”
“Is that right? Came all the way here just to see me?”
One
“How about a drink with your brother-in-law?” he said, realizing too late how much it sounded like a pickup line. And even though she smiled, her eyes betrayed her. He gently grabbed her arm and pulled her in closer to a space at the bar and, slurring his words, told her that he’d missed her. He waved to the bartender, Bowie, and asked for another whiskey and a whiskey sour.
When their drinks came, she turned to her table, where her stylish escort sat, gesturing with his hands, beckoning her back. She raised an index finger and mouthed the words “One minute, just one more minute.”
“Who’s the sharp dresser?” Dante asked, and she laughed and her eyes drifted back to the table.
“Just a friend,” she said. Sheila was never a good liar, not to him at least.
“Well, I hope he’s treating you well.” He looked her over for a moment. She had lost some weight and it showed in her face. Gone was the dreamy curiosity she’d often exhibited. It was now replaced with a self-assured elegance. She wore white gloves that ran all the way up to her elbows and made the pink satin dress even more chic, perhaps too much so for an after-hours club like the Pacific. He stared at her gold necklace and the swell of her cleavage. He was about to ask how she could afford such jewelry, but she was already preparing to leave. “Good to see you, Dante,” she said, and he stumbled and pulled her into him and said he loved her. Her body went tight and he loosened his embrace and stepped back.
“It’s been hard for us all,” he said, trying to sound normal despite the anxiety building in his chest and throat. He wanted to say how much he truly cared for her, that they were family, that he loved her and desired her, yes, but before he could utter the words, she extinguished her cigarette, kissed him on the cheek, and said good-bye. That was it. And then she was gone.
PARKING THE CAR off River Street just outside Central Square, Dante walked two streets over to the corner of Winston. The faint odors of chocolate and burnt fudge carried half a mile from the Necco candy factory. He lit another cigarette, exhaled smoke from his nostrils.
He paused before the green house, a square, flat-roofed two-family without a back or front porch. He pushed the doorbell once and then repeated, hearing the sharp buzzing echo in the hallway inside. All the houses in this neighborhood were built in a rush during the first war, and they were squared up tightly on narrow streets and sidewalks barely wide enough to hold a hydrant. He watched two little boys skip on the sidewalk toward him. Each was wearing a tattered sweater that was a size too big. They looked up, chins raised, and stared at him, a look that an adult might give somebody who wasn’t from the neighborhood, and even though they were just children, the look got under his skin.
The door opened, and a voice like a breaking dish made him turn around. “Jesus Christ, look who crossed the bridge! If it ain’t Dante Cooper, it must be whatever is left of his ghost.”
Dante hadn’t seen Karl in over two months. He was wearing a thin robe and a pair of blemished chinos. A beard hid his lopsided chin and thinned over his stick neck, where his Adam’s apple protruded like something infected. His heavy eyes were bloodshot. He wasn’t a large man, didn’t look like he’d be much in a fight, but the diseased look usually kept those who wanted to brawl in check; he had the look of a man who found many uses for razor blades besides shaving.
“I was in the neighborhood. Just thought I’d say hello.”
“Is that right? Came all the way here just to see me?”
One
Similar Books
