Read Online The Fifth Floor by Michael Harvey - Free Book Online Page A

Want to know what she said?”
    I tipped forward in my chair and slid my elbows onto my desk. “No, I don’t want to know. How about you, Taylor? You got a boyfriend?”
    The girl dropped her eyes to the floor and pulled the two books I’d given her close to her body. The part in her hair was straight down the middle of her scalp. Just like her mom.
    “I don’t mix too well,” she said.
    I knew I shouldn’t have asked the question. As usual, about ten seconds too late.
    “You got friends,” I said.
    “I have people I talk to every day.”
    “What do you call them?”
    “I call them people I talk to every day.”
    Her eyes crept up toward mine. There was a touch of annoyance in her voice and hard color rising in her cheeks.
    “I like to be left alone. Sort of like you.”
    I looked around the office. “Like me?”
    “Sure. You’re not married. You work by yourself. Looks to me like you’re alone a lot.”
    I wasn’t sure if she was attacking me. And if she was, whether it was out of spite or just plain old hurt. Either way, it was okay. She was a kid. And I’d been alone long enough to deal with any accompanying sting.
    “Looks can be deceiving, Taylor. Let me ask you something else.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “You like ice cream?”
    “Yes.”
    It was a reluctant yes. But a yes, all the same. Ice cream usually helps to turn the page for kids. Adults aren’t so easy.
    “There’s a great spot down the street,” I said. “Best hot fudge sundaes in the city.”
    I got up. The girl got up with me, Sophocles and Catullus in tow. I turned out the lights and we left. We were halfway down the hallway when Taylor spoke again.
    “You forgot to lock the door.”
    I almost swore but caught myself. Instead, I went back down the hall and locked up. Then the two of us headed out for some ice cream.

CHAPTER 16
    T he Bobtail sits at the corner of Broadway and Surf. It’s a throwback place with a long marble counter, soda jerks dressed in white out front, and hand-cranked ice cream made in the back. Taylor ordered a chocolate ice-cream soda. The guy behind the counter took a glass with a Coke logo on the side, fitted it into a metal holder with a handle, and cranked a good amount of chocolate into the bottom. Then he dropped in three scoops of ice cream, filled the glass with seltzer from a black-handled dispenser, and stirred with a long spoon. Real whipped cream and a cherry went on top and the whole thing was slid down the counter. Taylor pulled the paper wrapping off a straw and, for the second time, looked like a kid.
    “Aren’t you going to get anything?” she said.
    I ordered a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a cup. Taylor seemed happy with that and dug into her soda. Three minutes later, she hit bottom with her straw. I got her a spoon and she scooped ice cream from the depths of her glass.
    “Pretty good,” she said.
    “Told you.”
    Taylor pushed her glass away and turned toward me. “Are we going to talk about my mom now?”
    “Sure.”
    I got up and walked us over to a table by the window. We sat in chairs made of thin white wire. The fourteen-year-old with the ice-cream soda got left at the counter. Taylor Woods was back. A kid with the problems of an adult.
    “You think your mom’s in some kind of trouble,” I said. “Tell me about that.”
    “Mom said you knew.”
    “About your step-dad?”
    “Yeah.”
    For the first time, I sensed a crack in the faзade. It ran like a shiver through her voice and across her lower lip, finding a home in her eyes as her gaze slid to the floor.
    “You like your step-dad?” I said.
    A narrow set of shoulders offered a single shrug that said enough.
    “You scared of him?”
    She shook her head.
    “You scared for your mom?”
    Nothing.
    “It’s okay to be scared for your mom, Taylor. And it’s okay to be scared for yourself.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’m not scared of him. You wouldn’t understand.”
    I thought about the guy who