Read Online The Dead Past by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Piccirilli
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filing cabinet. I grabbed one and sat. "Here like this."
"You're nuts," he said, sneering now, but he sat in the recliner.
"No, with your legs closer, your feet together."
"What the hell are you doing? I'm calling the cops."
"And we'll have them investigate those ugly rumors that you've been paying off building inspectors and fooling around with your teenaged check-out girls."
Those rumors, if they did exist—and they probably did—were also probably true. Either way, it got his attention. "Who the hell's been feeding you that load of shit?"
"Now try getting out the doorway," I said. "Your office door is the same size as the front."
He didn't bother; he understood my meaning, and sneered and shook his head and the worried look faded and one of disgust replaced it. No cops, no robbery, no beating the hell out of him, just the Kendrick kid going through a big act to give a rough time about his granny's wheelchair being too big to fit inside. Like the chair he now sat in.
Someone called him over the PA, asking his assistance at the courtesy counter. The tension dissipated further and he smiled, almost amiable now, just wishing he could make me understand his point of view. "You haven't changed a thing, Kendrick. Stick to finding lost babies."
~ * ~
Ten o'clock spun around slowly.
Debi called during the afternoon to inform me how the deal with the German sellers went; she and her boyfriend had a great time at dinner, and she promised that the Gunther Grass books and other volumes she'd picked up were first editions in perfect condition. The exchange rate did not prove to be a problem. I knew I could move them easily and turn a quick profit, but it was seeing Debi's growing interest in the business that made her excited chatter all the more satisfying. She enjoyed being boss for a while, and that eased my conscience; I didn't know how much longer I'd be in Felicity Grove, especially if I let Lowell play out his hand and waited to confront Broghin .
I took Anubis for a walk in the park, killing time, letting him romp through the woods. By the thickets across from Anna's house, I made a half-hearted search of where Richie's murderer—if he was murdered—might have dragged his body in order to dump it. Nothing. Anubis took a hesitant step out onto the frozen surface of the pond, then another, and another, until he was in the middle and looking back, daring me to follow.
It took me twenty minutes to coax him off the ice. We went home and I tried to read but couldn't concentrate, and I didn't feel like making any more lists. At a quarter after nine I was climbing the walls and decided I'd beat Tons to the bar.
Raimi's reeked with the sweet aroma of marijuana and the cloying stink of sweat, perfume, and stale beer. Whatever the smell, it didn't seem to keep anybody away. The place thrummed, packed with a thirty-nothing crowd; the small dance floor writhed with couples pressed against each other, swaying and grinding, spilling drinks on their partners. At least the jukebox wasn't spinning "The Piña Colada Song." Instead, a former local talent by the name of Zenith Brite funked out with her latest single "Calcutta by Night," vibrating the walls.
Three bartenders worked the bar, two men and a woman whose wild black hair hung in her eyes. By the time she got done serving drinks to those around me she looked like a frazzled sheep dog. Still, I got an electric smile. She swept a mass of frizzy curls off her forehead, turned her ear to me and shouted, "What can I get you?"
" Amstel Lite ."
"No Amstel . We got Coors on tap, Bud, Bud Lite , Schlitz—"
"You actually sell Schlitz?"
"Yeah."
"I'll take a Bud Lite ."
Whoever Raimi was, he'd upgraded the joint. Money had been poured in, and apparently that had paid off. A second bar had been set up across the room, two television screens blasted nimbus in a distant corner, and the tables in back were roomy with glass tops, rather than the scarred picnic benches of Jackals. I
"You're nuts," he said, sneering now, but he sat in the recliner.
"No, with your legs closer, your feet together."
"What the hell are you doing? I'm calling the cops."
"And we'll have them investigate those ugly rumors that you've been paying off building inspectors and fooling around with your teenaged check-out girls."
Those rumors, if they did exist—and they probably did—were also probably true. Either way, it got his attention. "Who the hell's been feeding you that load of shit?"
"Now try getting out the doorway," I said. "Your office door is the same size as the front."
He didn't bother; he understood my meaning, and sneered and shook his head and the worried look faded and one of disgust replaced it. No cops, no robbery, no beating the hell out of him, just the Kendrick kid going through a big act to give a rough time about his granny's wheelchair being too big to fit inside. Like the chair he now sat in.
Someone called him over the PA, asking his assistance at the courtesy counter. The tension dissipated further and he smiled, almost amiable now, just wishing he could make me understand his point of view. "You haven't changed a thing, Kendrick. Stick to finding lost babies."
~ * ~
Ten o'clock spun around slowly.
Debi called during the afternoon to inform me how the deal with the German sellers went; she and her boyfriend had a great time at dinner, and she promised that the Gunther Grass books and other volumes she'd picked up were first editions in perfect condition. The exchange rate did not prove to be a problem. I knew I could move them easily and turn a quick profit, but it was seeing Debi's growing interest in the business that made her excited chatter all the more satisfying. She enjoyed being boss for a while, and that eased my conscience; I didn't know how much longer I'd be in Felicity Grove, especially if I let Lowell play out his hand and waited to confront Broghin .
I took Anubis for a walk in the park, killing time, letting him romp through the woods. By the thickets across from Anna's house, I made a half-hearted search of where Richie's murderer—if he was murdered—might have dragged his body in order to dump it. Nothing. Anubis took a hesitant step out onto the frozen surface of the pond, then another, and another, until he was in the middle and looking back, daring me to follow.
It took me twenty minutes to coax him off the ice. We went home and I tried to read but couldn't concentrate, and I didn't feel like making any more lists. At a quarter after nine I was climbing the walls and decided I'd beat Tons to the bar.
Raimi's reeked with the sweet aroma of marijuana and the cloying stink of sweat, perfume, and stale beer. Whatever the smell, it didn't seem to keep anybody away. The place thrummed, packed with a thirty-nothing crowd; the small dance floor writhed with couples pressed against each other, swaying and grinding, spilling drinks on their partners. At least the jukebox wasn't spinning "The Piña Colada Song." Instead, a former local talent by the name of Zenith Brite funked out with her latest single "Calcutta by Night," vibrating the walls.
Three bartenders worked the bar, two men and a woman whose wild black hair hung in her eyes. By the time she got done serving drinks to those around me she looked like a frazzled sheep dog. Still, I got an electric smile. She swept a mass of frizzy curls off her forehead, turned her ear to me and shouted, "What can I get you?"
" Amstel Lite ."
"No Amstel . We got Coors on tap, Bud, Bud Lite , Schlitz—"
"You actually sell Schlitz?"
"Yeah."
"I'll take a Bud Lite ."
Whoever Raimi was, he'd upgraded the joint. Money had been poured in, and apparently that had paid off. A second bar had been set up across the room, two television screens blasted nimbus in a distant corner, and the tables in back were roomy with glass tops, rather than the scarred picnic benches of Jackals. I
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