Read Online The Last Quarry by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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experience lost....
I was not able to sit as near Janet and her friend Connie as I would have liked. They were in a booth to my back, with a cluster of tables between us. But I was facing a bar with a mirrored wall, and my lip-reading skills came in handy.
The conversation I am about to report I admit took some filling in with my imagination, when my vision was blocked by patrons or wait staff, including the bartender (or ’tendress—a good-looking brunette in her mid-twenties in the red-plaid shirt and jeans that all the help wore, though she had her top tied into a Daisy Duke’s halter).
And I could actually hear some of Janet and Connie’s discourse. The nature of the loud music and yelled conversation made it possible to hone in on them, and pick some of it up.
Janet, in her emerald silk blouse and new jeans, was probably the most conservatively dressed woman in the joint—her blowsy gal pal Connie, for instance, was in a low-cut red sweater, an angora number that would’ve put a big grin on Ed Wood’s face, and jeans camel-toe tight.
They were drinking margaritas—on their second round.
And Connie was saying, more or less, “Honey! You should go after it— really .”
And Janet shook her head and said, “But you’re more qualified, Con. Plus, I can think of three people with more tenure than me!”
“ You’re the qualified one, Jan— you have the degree .”
A guy stopped alongside Connie, facing Janet; he was angled enough that it made him a tough read, but I got it: “ My wife won’t have to work.”
Rick.
Hadn’t recognized him at first—there were dozens of Ricks in Sneaky Pete’s. But this was a specific Rick, Rick the prick, the abusive boyfriend who had dropped by the library this afternoon, in his ongoing campaign to make this young woman’s life miserable.
Slender, taller than I remembered, he wore a brown leather jacket and black jeans, a glimpse of darker brown shirt beneath. A good-looking guy, as vapid sons of bitches go.
Connie said something I didn’t catch, but Rick said, “Fuck you very much” to her, and shoved in beside Janet.
He was turning toward her, so I only got part of his face, but figuring out what he was saying wasn’t tough—he wasn’t exactly Noel Coward.
“Very funny,” he said to her.
She didn’t look at him, concentrating on her margarita, or pretending to. “What is?”
“Keeping me waiting.”
“Is that what I did?”
“I waited my ass off at the Brew for you, for half a fuckin’ hour.”
Now she looked at him. Her expression was commendably withering. “We weren’t meeting. We didn’t have anything set up.”
He shook his head, peeved. “So you make me go lookin’ for you? Lotta bars in this town. That any way to act?”
Connie, staring daggers at their uninvited guest, said, “Do you mind ? We were talking .”
He leaned toward the big-hair blonde. “Probably you were talking....You mind giving us some privacy?”
“Let me see, let me give that a little thought—how about, I don’t frickin’ think so.”
Rick’s expression turned menacing. “ I think so.”
Connie looked at Janet.
Janet, reluctantly, nodded to her friend.
Disgusted with both of them, Connie got up and left. She hadn’t gone two steps when a guy asked her to dance, and they went out onto the floor and bumped loins to Kenny Chesney.
Rick came around to the other side of the booth, to sit across and make eye contact with Janet, who wasn’t cooperating.
Leaning halfway over, he said, “I wasn’t kidding, you know. About marriage.”
Janet’s eyes widened and she began to shake herhead. “The last thing I want to do is marry you, Rick.”
“That’s not what you said, before.”
“That was weeks, maybe months ago. That was when...when you were still being...nice.”
“I’m always nice to you!”
She just looked at him.
He shrugged. “Well...I’ll be nice in the future. How’s that sound?”
“Insincere.” Now she leaned
I was not able to sit as near Janet and her friend Connie as I would have liked. They were in a booth to my back, with a cluster of tables between us. But I was facing a bar with a mirrored wall, and my lip-reading skills came in handy.
The conversation I am about to report I admit took some filling in with my imagination, when my vision was blocked by patrons or wait staff, including the bartender (or ’tendress—a good-looking brunette in her mid-twenties in the red-plaid shirt and jeans that all the help wore, though she had her top tied into a Daisy Duke’s halter).
And I could actually hear some of Janet and Connie’s discourse. The nature of the loud music and yelled conversation made it possible to hone in on them, and pick some of it up.
Janet, in her emerald silk blouse and new jeans, was probably the most conservatively dressed woman in the joint—her blowsy gal pal Connie, for instance, was in a low-cut red sweater, an angora number that would’ve put a big grin on Ed Wood’s face, and jeans camel-toe tight.
They were drinking margaritas—on their second round.
And Connie was saying, more or less, “Honey! You should go after it— really .”
And Janet shook her head and said, “But you’re more qualified, Con. Plus, I can think of three people with more tenure than me!”
“ You’re the qualified one, Jan— you have the degree .”
A guy stopped alongside Connie, facing Janet; he was angled enough that it made him a tough read, but I got it: “ My wife won’t have to work.”
Rick.
Hadn’t recognized him at first—there were dozens of Ricks in Sneaky Pete’s. But this was a specific Rick, Rick the prick, the abusive boyfriend who had dropped by the library this afternoon, in his ongoing campaign to make this young woman’s life miserable.
Slender, taller than I remembered, he wore a brown leather jacket and black jeans, a glimpse of darker brown shirt beneath. A good-looking guy, as vapid sons of bitches go.
Connie said something I didn’t catch, but Rick said, “Fuck you very much” to her, and shoved in beside Janet.
He was turning toward her, so I only got part of his face, but figuring out what he was saying wasn’t tough—he wasn’t exactly Noel Coward.
“Very funny,” he said to her.
She didn’t look at him, concentrating on her margarita, or pretending to. “What is?”
“Keeping me waiting.”
“Is that what I did?”
“I waited my ass off at the Brew for you, for half a fuckin’ hour.”
Now she looked at him. Her expression was commendably withering. “We weren’t meeting. We didn’t have anything set up.”
He shook his head, peeved. “So you make me go lookin’ for you? Lotta bars in this town. That any way to act?”
Connie, staring daggers at their uninvited guest, said, “Do you mind ? We were talking .”
He leaned toward the big-hair blonde. “Probably you were talking....You mind giving us some privacy?”
“Let me see, let me give that a little thought—how about, I don’t frickin’ think so.”
Rick’s expression turned menacing. “ I think so.”
Connie looked at Janet.
Janet, reluctantly, nodded to her friend.
Disgusted with both of them, Connie got up and left. She hadn’t gone two steps when a guy asked her to dance, and they went out onto the floor and bumped loins to Kenny Chesney.
Rick came around to the other side of the booth, to sit across and make eye contact with Janet, who wasn’t cooperating.
Leaning halfway over, he said, “I wasn’t kidding, you know. About marriage.”
Janet’s eyes widened and she began to shake herhead. “The last thing I want to do is marry you, Rick.”
“That’s not what you said, before.”
“That was weeks, maybe months ago. That was when...when you were still being...nice.”
“I’m always nice to you!”
She just looked at him.
He shrugged. “Well...I’ll be nice in the future. How’s that sound?”
“Insincere.” Now she leaned
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