Read Online The Web by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online Page B

His tiny blue eyes were
bloodshot but alert, his nose so flat it was almost flush. The
beard was patchy and ingrown. The skin it didn’t cover was a
ruin of mounds and puckers.
    “What’s that you got?”
    “French bulldog.”
    “Never saw nothing like that in France.”
    Robin stroked Spike, and Harry Amalfi drew back his head.
“Having a good time, miss?”
    “Very much so.”
    “Doctor treating you good?”
    She nodded.
    “Well, don’t count on it.” He licked a finger and held
it to the wind. “Wanna go up in the air, too?”
    “No thanks.”
    He laughed, started coughing, and spat on the ground.
“Nervous?”
    “Maybe some other time.”
    “Don’t worry, miss, my planes are all greased and tuned.
I’m the only way to fly around here.”
    “Thanks for the offer,” I said, and completed the turn.
Amalfi put his hands on his hips and watched us, hitching up
his shorts. The Pickers had gone inside the house with Skip.
    As I drove away, I glanced back and got a closer look at
the smaller house. The white molding around the door was a
ring of sharks’ jaws.
       
    I got on Front Street and drove back toward South Beach.
The man with the chopsticks was still in front of the Palace,
and this time he stood as we approached and waved his arms,
as if hailing a cab.
    I pulled over and he trotted to the curb. He was around
forty, average height and narrow build, with black hair
combed down over his forehead and a black mustache too thin
to see from a distance. The rest of his face was sallow and
smooth, nearly hairless. He wore wide, black Porsche
sunglasses, a short-sleeved blue button-down shirt,
seersucker pants, and Top-Siders. Back at his table was a
stuffed Filofax next to a platter of noodles-and-something,
and three empty Sapporos.
    He said “Tom Creedman” in a tone that
said we should recognize the name. When we didn’t, he smiled
unhappily and clicked his tongue. “L.A., right?”
    “Right.”
    “New York,” he said, pointing to his chest. “Before
that, D.C. Used to work in the news business.” He paused,
then dropped the names of a TV network and two major
newspapers.
    “Ah,” I said, as if all was clear. His smile warmed up.
    “Care to join me for a beer?”
    I looked at Robin. She nodded.
    We got out and went over to his table, Spike in tow. He
looked at the dog but didn’t say anything. Then he stuck his
head in the restaurant’s open door. “Jacqui!”
    A statuesque woman came out, dishcloth balled in one
hand. Her long dark hair was thick and wavy,
crowning a full-lipped, golden face. A few lines but
young skin. Her age was hard to gauge—anywhere from
twenty-five to forty-five.
    “The new guests up at Knife Castle,” Creedman told her.
“A round for everyone.”
    Jacqui smiled at us. “Welcome to Aruk.”
    “Something to eat?” said Creedman. “I know it’s early
but I’ve found Chinese for breakfast a great pick-me-up.
Probably all the soy sauce, gets that blood pressure up.”
    “No thanks.”
    “Okay,” said Creedman to Jacqui. “Just beers.”
    She left.
    “Knife Castle?” said Robin.
    “Local nickname for your lodgings. Didn’t you know?
The Japanese owned this island; Moreland’s manse was their
headquarters. They used the locals as slaves to do all the
dirty work, imported more. Then MacArthur decided to take
over everything from Hawaii to Tokyo and bombed the hell out
of them. When the surviving Japanese soldiers were trying to
entrench, the slaves grabbed any sharp thing they could find,
left their barracks, and finished the job. Knife Island.”
    I said, “Dr. Moreland said it was because of the shape.”
    Creedman laughed.
    “Sounds like you’ve done some research,” I said.
    “Old habits.”
    Jacqui brought the beers and he threw a dollar tip at
her. She looked irritated and left quickly.
    Creedman lifted a bottle but instead of drinking rubbed
the top of his hand against the glass.
    “What brings you here?” I said.
    “Little wind-down