Read Online Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries) by Tom Hilpert - Free Book Online Page A

me. “I didn't expect you to say that . I mean, shouldn't I care?”
    “I'm not saying if you should care or not. But you seem to. So, why?”
    He looked into his beer for a moment. “I dunno.”
    “Look at it this way, Bud. If it's all just a meaningless, random crap shoot, then there's no reason why you – a product of that randomness – should care that there's no meaning.”
    “I've had a few beers already,” said Bud, nodding at me confidentially. “I'm not sure I follow you.”
    “The very fa ct that you wonder about it all, strongly suggests that there is meaning to life, and that you were made to find it.”
    “Oh.”
    “You ever see a lion in a small cage?” I asked.
    “Sure,” he said. “ Como Z oo , in St. Paul, when I was a kid. ”
    “What was it doing?” I asked.
    He thought. “Pacing around like it was restless.”
    “Exactly,” I said. “It was probably born in a zoo. That cage was the only life it ever knew. So why did it pace around like that?”
    “ Bec ause it wanted to get out?”
    “Sure, but why?”
    “Oh, I get it. 'Cause lions weren't made to be caged up?”
    “Right. Th at lion was restless because it was made to live free in the wild. And even if it never experienced that life, at some level, it was still seeking that. It was made for more. In a cage or not, it still has a lion’s heart, a lion’s desires. ”
    “So you're saying, I wonder about life, because I was made for more?”
    “Exactly. The very fact that the possibility of meaningl essness bothers you suggests that you were made for a meaningful life.”
    We chatted some more, and after a while , Bud left my booth. Ally came with my coke and seafood chowder.
    “ You looked like you were in the middle of one of your sessions there ,” she said.
    “Yeah. People need to talk sometimes.”
    “I know I do,” she said. “ Got a minute?”
    “No one here but you right now,” I said.
    “I'll take a quick break,” she said, and slid into the booth. While I ate, she told me about her latest boyfriend. She was a single mom, probably too attractive for her own good, and she had experienced a string of bad relationships.
    Mostly, I just listened and offered support. After about ten minutes she thanked me, and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and went back to work.
    Over the next two hours , the bar got noisier and more full, and sev eral other people stopped by to talk and share their problems. I liked to think of it as my public confession booth.
    At about eleven, I was getting tired, and ready to head home. I looked over at the bar and saw Jasmine and Tony Stone. He was sitting on a stool with his elbows on the bar, his legs spread wide. Jasmine stood next to him. They both looked relaxed and comfortable. I wondered again what the problem was with their marriage.
    He glanced up and saw me looking at them. He bent down and murmured in her ear, no doubt to make himself heard over the loud music that was playing.
    I stood up and reached for my coat, but someone grabbed my arm first. It was Jasmine.
    “Well hello , P astor Jonah,” she said. She was wearing tight black leather pants and a close-fitting red tank top. She exuded a kind of animal attraction.
    “I didn't expect to see you here,” she said.
    “I'm sort of the bar chaplain,” I said. “How're you guys doing?”
    “Rotten,” she said. “He brings me here, and then sits all night eyeing the other girls.”
    The bar sound system began playing “Smooth” by Santana. Jasmine grabbed my hand. “Let's dance,” she said.
    “I don't think so,” I began, but her grip was surprisingly strong , and she seemed to know about physical leverage and how to use it. Before I could figure out how to gracefully break free, she had pulled me over to the tiny dance floor at the back of the room. True, I could have broken her hold, but it would have taken enough effort to make a scene. She slid her arms around me and pressed her body tightly against mine, moving with