Read Online The Last Whisper in the Dark: A Novel by Tom Piccirilli - Free Book Online Page B

searching out signs of male spoor. I was somehow remorseful and jealous at the same time.
    Darla whimpered, “Yes.”
    Our second tussle was brief and full of a sort of blunt affection that wore away into sharpness.
    Afterward, her breathing steadied and deepened and soon she was asleep. I checked the clock and the numbers melted together. When they came back into focus two hours had passed. Darla was still sleeping.
    A small alcove turned out to be a stand-up kitchen. I found ice in the fridge and dumped it in the bathroom sink and soaked my face. The bruises were turning funky colors already. My nose wasn’t broken. The tape job to my side was holding my ribs in nicely.

I called Chub. He answered with a formal “Wright’s Garage,” a lilt of laughter hanging there like somebody in the room had just finished a joke.
    “It’s me.”
    The second he heard my voice he disconnected. The Percs kept me steady. I tried again and it went straight through to voice mail.
    I said, “This is serious. Call me back.”
    I waited two minutes, then drove over to the garage. I pulled up and parked next to his ’64 Shelby Cobra 289 Roadster, another classic muscle car he’d restored himself. I stepped into the first bay">“No,” I saidplas and watched the three mechanics he had working for him under the hoods of three different cars. They didn’t know anything about Chub’s other career. He’d always managed to keep his lives separate. I’d tried that for five years and had still fouled it up.
    Chub stood in his office, staring through the front window with a faraway look in his eye. I opened the door and stepped inside.
    I could clearly see the outline of a blade in his back pocket. It wasn’t much considering how much firepower the crew carried, but it must’ve given him some sense of safety. It was stupid of him to carry anything except an automatic with a hair trigger on his hip.
    If the knife was for me, that was another matter.
    He sat down, his feet up on his desk. I said his name and sat across the desk from him. He nodded but didn’t divert his gaze. The last time we’d met like this we’d at least shaken hands. I could feel the heavy tidal drag of resentment straining around us.
    “Keep it short. What do you want, Terry?”
    “To warn you off of the latest crew you’ve been dealing with.”
    He shifted in his seat a little but that was it. The vehicle in the nearest bay started up, sputtering and popping badly until the mechanic fixed the timing chain. The car quieted and finally hummed.
    “I know all about that already. They stopped over here a couple hours ago and told me they’d been followed from the garage. I knew it was you, you pain in the ass. I had a feeling you’d been watching me. After they shook you, they trailed you home. You nearly shook them a couple of times. The driver was impressed. I can see by your face they told you to go away. So why don’t you go away?”
    “They know where I live. My family could be in jeopardy.”
    “And whose fault is that? I told you to quit bracing me, Terrier.” He jerked his feet off his desk and leaned forward. “You act like you’re trying to protect my wife and daughter, but I know what you’re really about. You’re hoping I take a header. You want me in the bin. Or dead.”
    “It’s not true,” I said.
    That got him grinning. Sorrowful and pained, but the old Chub was there, the guy I knew and had once loved. “You can’t even find the guts to sound insulted.” His expression drifted through different shades of the same things: frustration, pity, disappointment. “You gave that crew a reason to distrust me. For the first time my ass is really on the line.”
    “It’s always been on the line, ever since you decided to plan escape routes and sell getaway cars. What I don’t understand is why you’re still doing it.”
    “Ask your father.”
    “Let’s pretend I’m asking you.”
    “Why was your old man still a cat burglar climbing