Read Online Silent Thunder by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online

be and what army he belonged to. I wondered what a spoiled kid with too much money wanted with a nuclear weapon that didn’t work. I wondered what the article was that Ma had clipped out of last night’s newspaper and stuck in the pocket of her nutty kimono. I wondered, while digesting lunch, who was going to pay for supper.
    My waitress, three hundred pounds with yellow hair in a bun and Dora stitched across her apron pocket, brought my bill. “Can I get you anything else?”
    “Not unless there’s a copy of yesterday’s News in the kitchen,” I said.
    “I think it was in your soup.” She laid the bill on the table, but she didn’t go away. “You look like a man with problems.”
    “I’m out of work.”
    “Put your wife to work. That’s what my husband did.”
    “I don’t have a wife.”
    “I wish I didn’t have a husband.”
    I covered the bill, emptying my wallet for the second time in two days. “What would you call a man who gets fired, then goes on doing the same job without pay?”
    “He working for a woman?”
    “Yeah.”
    She counted her tip and put it in her apron. “I’d call him a romantic. But only if he tips twenty percent.”
    Back in the city I got some more cash and stopped at a corner bar for a cold beer and a slice of conditioned air. While the bartender was drawing the beer I used the pay telephone by the rest rooms to call my answering service. Waiting for the girl to come on the line I belched sausage.
    “Yes, Mr. Walker, a Mr. Scooter called at ten o’clock. He wants you to call him back. You know the number, he said.”
    “Shooter,” I corrected. “Anything else?”
    “A woman called a few minutes ago, but she wouldn’t leave her name.”
    “Maybe it was Dora.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Nothing. I just needed some advice.” I thanked her and hung up.
    Shooter’s line was busy. I called Detroit Police Headquarters and asked for Inspector Alderdyce.
    “Alderdyce.”
    “Congratulations, John,” I said. “I didn’t get my invitation to your promotion party.”
    “I’ll throw a party the day I leave this job. I inherited four murders and a series of home invasions from Crosse Pointe to Flatrock. How are you, Walker?”
    “Working, sort of. I was wondering if some cold meat named Waldo Stoudenmire had happened across your desk yet.”
    He jumped on it. “Who says Sturdy’s dead?”
    “The word’s on the street, like they say on TV. Where is the Street, anyway?”
    “Hollywood. If you hear anything else, let me know.
    Sturdy’s the one I wanted to talk to about these home invasions. The scroats have to be laying the stuff off somewhere.”
    “I’ll keep you in mind. You’re my first friendly inspector.”
    “I’ll say.” He let the hard edge go. “Remember Proust?”
    “I thought I could forget him when he left the department. Then he got indicted up in the Heights and I thought he was forgotten. He’s still in office.”
    “He’ll be retired before he sees court. In the Heights they take crime off the streets and put it in city hall where they can keep an eye on it.”
    I belched into a fist. “What do you know about a guy who calls himself the Colonel?”
    “He’s got a white beard and sells chicken by the bucket.”
    “I needed a funny inspector today,” I said. “That’s the only thing the day was missing.”
    “We’re here to serve.”
    We said good-bye. I worked the cradle and dialed again.
    “You’re a hard man to reach,” Shooter said.
    “What’ve you got for me?”
    “Eleven o’clock tonight, same place. Leave the heat behind. Man hates heat unless he’s buying it or selling it.”
    “What’s the man’s name?”
    He laughed and broke the connection.
    Three people were waiting to use the telephone. I pegged the receiver and went back to the bar to drink my beer, which was just cool by this time. I drank it anyway. When you’re broke you respect the little investments.
    At my building I paused to poke through the trash basket on