Read Online Silhouette by Dave Swavely - Free Book Online Page A

Space) of a John Woo firefight! And you phosgenated his mum ” laughing again “best use of toxic chemicals since the Haiti massacre!”
    â€œYou realize people could have been killed or wounded,” I said.
    â€œTorque ’em! That would have been Even Better Than the Real Thing.” He was singing again; it was definitely time for this discussion to end.
    â€œHarris,” I said, and the excuse for a man raised his eyebrow as high as it could go, cocked his head to the side, and showed me all his multicolored teeth.
    â€œYes, my Cardinal Squeeze?”
    â€œYou’ve worn out your welcome,” I said, and clicked him off. I asked the tech if he had successfully skirted the squatters’ jam and recorded the conversation. He said yes, and did I want to see it? I said no, but copied it to my glasses, and headed for the garage.
    *   *   *
    As I headed north to the Ranch to visit Paul, the olive green and black of the castle and the early-evening sun receding behind me, I put the glasses on and brought up the reports and inquiries that had reached my desk during the day. One was merely an informational item, about a BASS aero that had been fired upon by a punk in Japantown who had built his own bazooka. Another was an “external employment transfer”—read termination —that I immediately signed with my code, trusting the evaluator who had submitted it. Beyond that, there was nothing significant or pressing, so I spent the rest of the trip learning about the plan to expunge the squatters, which had been intricately outlined two years ago, then shelved. I liked the plan, so I notified the necessary people that they should be prepared by tomorrow to implement it at a moment’s notice.
    When I had finished that project and was approaching Paul’s Marin County residence, I finally began wondering why my boss and friend had seemed so troubled when he called me. He seemed to have no interest or excitement about the arrest of a possible suspect. Had he known that Korcz wasn’t the man? Or was this unrelated? I only knew it was something of weight, because the only other times I had been invited to the Ranch were for social occasions involving our whole family.
    As the memory of those family moments flooded into my mind, I pushed out the ones of the member I had lost and focused on the one who remained. I called Lynn, not really wanting to talk to her but thinking that I should. In fact, I used the audio on my glasses instead of the car phone, because I didn’t want to have to look her in the eye. The answering message came on, and I started talking to our net system, half hoping that she wouldn’t hear and answer.
    â€œHi, Lynn,” I said. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Dumb question, I guess. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that I plan to sleep at home tonight, or at least try to sleep—”
    â€œI don’t know,” she said, picking up the call. “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know what?” I said, bracing myself.
    â€œI don’t know if I want you to come home.”
    We were both silent for a while. On my end, I was weighing whether this was a good or a bad turn of events.
    â€œI’m just really confused,” she finally continued. “Part of me wants to hurt you, hate you, for this. But part of me needs you. I’m not sure which part to listen to.”
    â€œI knew you would blame me for this,” I said defensively, but feeling deep inside that I couldn’t win this argument.
    â€œWho else should I blame?” she answered, as if she had been rehearsing this in her mind. Then she said my answer before I could get it out. “The killer? Michael, sometimes it takes more than one person to make a murder. I gave you the choice. I let you decide about your job—probably because of some antiquated notion of male leadership that I got from the old