Read Online The Nameless Dead by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online

play to screw with my Colombian connection?’
    ‘Well, I suggest you take Mr. Larengo to a darkened room and ask him if what I told you is true. I find pincers and wire cutters useful in such cases.’
    ‘I’ll bet you do, lady. Can I give you something for your trouble?’
    The woman turned away. ‘Just stay off my tail. If I hear you behind me, I’ll empty my clip into your Roadster.’ She glanced back. ‘I’ve got another one for you, if necessary.’
     
    Back on Ditmars Boulevard, the woman headed for the subway. Seagulls were shrieking above the buildings, flying in from Rikers Island, with its teeming prison, and the strait between Queens and Manhattan that was called Hell Gate. Her broker Havi wouldn’t be impressed by what she’d done—she’d been contracted to kill Vlastos, but she had decided that the rapist Larengo should be punished. The Colombians would give Havi a hard time, but she thought Vlastos would survive. Larengo had crossed a line.
    She felt an unusual lightness of spirit, although that did nothing to alleviate the ache in her upper back that had appeared a few weeks back. She had painkillers at home. What would her ex-lover Matt Wells think if he heard the dreaded Soul Collector had just righted a wrong that was beyond the normal reach of justice, and that she was pleased she’d done it?
    Sometimes the line between good and evil was as blurred as a charcoal drawing in the rain.

Six
    A week passed and we started gearing up for the birth. Karen seemed fine, though she got tired very quickly. She looked magnificent, like a galleon with the wind in every sail, as she moved around our rooms. Judging by the size of her bulge, my son was going to live up to his name. I was still having daily sessions with Quincy Jerome and, when pressed, he agreed that I was making progress. My body disagreed. I had more bruises than a linebacker— American football was the only sport I could get on the TV set we’d been provided with—but my fitness was definitely improving. I spent a lot of time on the internet, catching up with old contacts and, as much to see if there was any censorship going on, searching for traces of Heinz Rothmann and my lethal ex-lover Sara Robbins. None of the sites I logged on to were blocked by the Feds, nor did I find anything about the pair except out-of-date media reports.
    We were sitting watching a romantic comedy—not my choice—after dinner one evening, when Karen let out a groan.
    ‘What is it?’ I asked, immediately panic-stricken.
    She grimaced and then smiled. ‘Calm down, Matt. I’m supposed to be the nervous one.’ She ran a hand over her abdomen. ‘Oh, you little swine. Stop doing that. It hurts.’
    ‘You aren’t having contractions, are you?’
    ‘I don’t think so.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘I have a feeling it won’t be long, though.’
    I fetched her a glass of water and she gradually got back to normal.
    ‘Do you want me to call the health center?’ I asked.
    Karen shook her head. ‘It’s okay. Things are calming down.’ Then she swallowed hard and her eyes filled with tears.
    ‘What is it, my love?’ I said, putting my arm round her shoulders.
    ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, sobbing. ‘It’s just…it’s just I’m so happy…to be having our son….’ She blinked and looked into my eyes. ‘I’d never have done this if it wasn’t for you.’
    I laughed. ‘You got that right. Remember how it started?’
    She inserted her elbow under my arm. ‘Don’t make a joke of it, Matt. I…I’ve never felt so happy.’
    It was infectious. I felt tears in my eyes. ‘Neither have I,’ I said, kissing her. ‘Neither have I.’
     
    Karen slept unusually deeply that night, and so did I; no nightmares or blood-lathered memories, and no Sara. Despite all the bullshit—the kidnapping, the conditioning, the Rothmanns’ conspiracy, being held in this Spartan camp for weeks—the imminent arrival of our son was all that mattered; that and Karen