Read Online The Patriots Club by Christopher Reich - Free Book Online

Bolden. “Not unless you think I blow off rounds an inch from my face to get my jollies or jump from a couple hundred feet up in the air. In fact, Detective, I’d say that given the circumstances, my instincts saved my life.”
    Franciscus thought about this for a second. “I’d say you’re right. I’d also say you’re lucky. Anyway, your story checks out. Miss Dance’s description of the two men who mugged her, um—” He ran a fingernail across the topmost paper in his folder. “ ‘Irish’ and ‘Wolf’—matches yours. I just got off the phone with the doctor who’s looking after the guy you roughed up. He had a tattoo just like the one you said ‘Mr. Wolf’ had. A little rifle high on his chest. That’s not all. He also has a parachute on his arm with the words ‘Death Before Dishonor’ below it. Popular with Airborne troops. We sent his prints down to Bragg and to Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Negative on both counts. How do you figure? First thing they do when you show up for Basic is take your prints. Take ’em again when you join the division. I was there. I know.”
    “And so?”
    “All these army hotshots. ‘Unsat’ this. ‘NPQ’ that. Rangers . . . Green Berets . . . whatever. Sounds a little weird, don’t you think? I’m not one for coincidence. What about you?”
    Bolden shook his head.
    “I have a call in to the provost marshal’s office at Benning,” Franciscus went on, “and to Army HQ to forward any photographs of soldiers between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five who meet a description of the men who abducted you earlier. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope.”
    “And the other guy? Is he talking?”
    “Not likely. He’s getting his busted teeth fixed as we speak. We’re booking him for possession of stolen property and a firearms violation.”
    “The gun was stolen?”
    “Don’t know. Serial numbers were filed down. We can bring them back up if we try hard enough, but seeing as how you weren’t killed, I don’t really see the point. It doesn’t matter anyway. Possession without a permit earns you one year in the slam. No questions asked. It’s the cell phone that was stolen. A woman reported the theft yesterday afternoon. The phone was taken from her handbag at a place close to where you work. Balthazar. You know it?”
    “Yeah.” Bolden dropped his eyes. “I had lunch there today . . . um, I mean yesterday.”
    “Did you, now?” Franciscus made a note, his salt-and-pepper brows arched behind the reading glasses. “ ‘Bout time we’re getting somewhere.”
    “Would you excuse me a second?” Bolden turned in his chair and tapped in his cell number. His voice mail picked up on the second ring. Either the phone was off or it had run out of batteries. Next, he tried his home. When there was no answer, he left a message saying that he was all right, and that he would be back to shower and change before going to work. Earlier, Jenny had left him a message from the hospital saying that she was fine and was about to be released. He tried her place, and when the machine picked up, he hung up. He’d already left word saying that he was fine, and would call later. He slid the phone across the table. “Thanks.”
    “No problem. We’ll just add the charges to your city tax bill.” Franciscus eyed Bolden over the rims of his bifocals. “That, sir, was a joke. A pleasantry. You may now smile.”
    Bolden forced a smile. “Happy?”
    Franciscus set down his pen and folded his hands on the table. “Actually, Mr. Bolden, I’m anxious to learn more about you.”
    “What about me?”
    “Just a few personal details.”
    “I went over this already. What do you want me to add?”
    “Look, Mr. Bolden, I’m here to help. We don’t have to be best friends, but I think it’s a good idea for me to know a little about you.”
    Bolden was too tired to argue. “I’m a banker. I work at Harrington Weiss. Born in Iowa. Grew up in Illinois. Went to college at Princeton.