Read Online The Turning Season by Sharon Shinn - Free Book Online Page B

surprised that I have briefly left the scene.
    I step outside and take a deep breath. The scents of asphalt, diesel fuel, and back-alley trash clog the air, but I still perk up a little just at the contrast. Why did I let Celeste talk me into this? If we had brought
my
car to the Square, I could just drive home now. Surely Ryan or Rain or perhaps the handsome stranger would take Celeste home. Surely there is no reason for me to spend another minute in this place, in this town. In fact, at the moment I can’t think of a reason I’d ever need to come into the city of Quinville again.
    â€œHey,” says a man’s voice behind me, and I spin around, electrified with a moment of terror. The bulky shadow moves into the light and I recognize Joe the bouncer.
    â€œSorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says.
    I give a shaky laugh and pat my throat. “I didn’t mean to overreact. I just didn’t realize you were here.”
    â€œTill the place closes,” he says. “Two A.M. ”
    â€œGod, I hope I’m gone long before that.” My voice is glum. I wouldn’t be surprised if Celeste plans to stay till every light in the Square goes out.
    â€œYou’re not having a good time?” he asks.
    â€œI’m not much of a party girl,” I confess. “I don’t really like bars. I only came here tonight because—well—I mean, you have to get out of the house
sometime
.”
    He nods, like that’s a reasonable statement. “I like bars, but the dark, smoky, quiet kinds. You know, where you sit and have a beer and talk to someone. Maybe play darts or watch the ball game.”
    â€œSo if you don’t like places like Arabesque, why are you working here?”
    He shrugs and perches on the edge of his high stool. I have the distinct feeling he sits so he doesn’t seem like such a large and menacing presence, which makes me warm to him even more. Although, of course, he might just be tired.
    â€œNeeded a job and this was a job I could do,” he says.
    I lean against the brick wall of the building, which still holds heat from the day’s unexpectedly high temperatures. Now Joe and I are face-to-face and both of us are in enough light that we can see each other’s expressions. “I wouldn’t think being a bouncer at a dance club would pay enough to cover the rent,” I say.
    â€œNo,” he acknowledges. “I do some other part-time stuff. A buddy of mine runs a trucking company, so I drive some routes when he needs help. Over the summer I worked a few hours on the night shift at Home Depot.”
    It all sounds kind of aimless, not to say shiftless, but he strikes me as a generally more solid type. “You ever give any thought to a more permanent kind of job?” I ask.
    He grins. “Well, yeah. All the time. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
    I laugh. “What did you do before you moved to Quinville?”
    â€œI was a cop up in Joliet.”
    That widens my eyes because that certainly seems like a nice, upstanding sort of career. “Why’d you quit?” I have a terrible thought. “Or—”
Get fired.
“Never mind.”
    â€œThey didn’t kick me out, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œI liked being a cop. Maybe I was a little too idealistic at the beginning, but I thought we were doing some good. I liked going to the high schools, talking to the kids. I didn’t like being the first one on the scene at car accidents and murder scenes, but I figured that was part of the job.”
    Clearly there’s a major “but” coming. I wait.
    He shrugs again. “My partner shot and killed a guy. He was shooting at us, it was self-defense, my partner was cleared of wrongdoing and back on the job right away. But I—” Joe shakes his head. “I realized I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take aim with my gun and