Read Online Trip Wire by Charlotte Carter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlotte Carter
Tags: Fiction
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the subway, I somehow wound up in Chinatown.
Fucking Jack Klaus.
So, he thought I had a temper. He didn’t know the half of it.
Should I even believe what he said about Dan and Mia? I wanted not to, but something in me knew it was true. Had Wilt known about them, too? Why hadn’t he told me?
I stomped harder.
Every fear I’d had about the cops finding and surrounding poor Dan came back to me double strength now. It would be a horrible cowboys vs. the Indian scene. The death of Tonto, no kidding.
The sun was suddenly quite strong. That meant one thing: massive, flooding slush. My feet were soaking. When I spotted a bus with a number and destination that sounded the least bit familiar, I hopped on it. I figured I’d just take it to the South Side and maybe I’d be able to catch a jitney from wherever it let me out to Woody and Ivy’s place in Hyde Park.
Within fifteen minutes I knew I’d done the right thing. I spotted Skip’s Tavern, which wasn’t far from my grandmother’s Forest Street house. I got off the bus and started looking for a rogue cab. Across the street was Champ’s, a legendary ribs and chicken joint. Looked like they were still doing great business. Customers were pouring in.
I even recognized one of them, knew him by the leather coat he wore. Barry Mayhew. The insensitive roommate who had never once mopped the bathroom floor or defrosted the refrigerator.
It took a couple of seconds to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. I even used the edge of my scarf to give a quick wipe to my eyeglasses. That was Barry all right. What the hell was he doing in what we reluctantly call the ghetto?
I couldn’t imagine the answer to that. Any more than I knew why I found his presence in the neighborhood not just puzzling but ominous. But I was being foolish, I told myself. Champ’s barbecue was probably the finest pork this side of Charleston. Barry was hardly the first white guy to trek across town for it. And besides that, I lived in the same apartment with him, for god’s sakes. There was every reason in the world for me to go over and join him.
Not a chance. I backed into Skip’s Tavern and went directly over to the window, keeping watch on the door at Champ’s. I asked for a Miller and resumed the vigil.
Barry came out presently carrying a shopping bag with a grease spot on the side of it. Soul food to go. He walked briskly up the block. I saw him struggle a bit with the door to a rusted Volvo I recognized as Dan Zuni’s heap.
I wasn’t dreaming that, either. It was most definitely Dan’s car. I’d been in it a dozen times.
Damn. Something was very wrong. There was a police dragnet out for Dan and his car. If they couldn’t find the Volvo, how had Barry ended up with it? Maybe Barry had known all along where Dan was. Maybe he was hiding him someplace. And now he was . . . what? Bringing him an order of ribs for lunch?
For all I knew, Dan himself was in the car. Hunched down under a blanket on the backseat. Maybe wearing a false beard.
I threw a buck down on the bar, tore outside. But too late. Barry had already driven away.
The confrontation with Woody would have to wait. I ran to the el stop at 43rd and Indiana, eager to get home.
The ride was a long one, what with the change of trains in the Loop. I used the time to try to piece together some rational explanations for what I’d seen. I was stumped.
What should I do? Should I tell Taylor and Cliff and Annabeth I’d seen Barry in the Volvo? Or would that endanger Dan? I guess it was possible the others already knew, that I was the only one not in on the secret.
No, I was being paranoid. Wasn’t I?
I hustled through the Jackson Street station, heading for the exit at Adams. I’d have to come above ground and then switch to the Ravenswood line. My thoughts were all over the place. I don’t know how many times the young black man walking beside me had spoken before I realized he was talking to me. But now he was shouting in my
Fucking Jack Klaus.
So, he thought I had a temper. He didn’t know the half of it.
Should I even believe what he said about Dan and Mia? I wanted not to, but something in me knew it was true. Had Wilt known about them, too? Why hadn’t he told me?
I stomped harder.
Every fear I’d had about the cops finding and surrounding poor Dan came back to me double strength now. It would be a horrible cowboys vs. the Indian scene. The death of Tonto, no kidding.
The sun was suddenly quite strong. That meant one thing: massive, flooding slush. My feet were soaking. When I spotted a bus with a number and destination that sounded the least bit familiar, I hopped on it. I figured I’d just take it to the South Side and maybe I’d be able to catch a jitney from wherever it let me out to Woody and Ivy’s place in Hyde Park.
Within fifteen minutes I knew I’d done the right thing. I spotted Skip’s Tavern, which wasn’t far from my grandmother’s Forest Street house. I got off the bus and started looking for a rogue cab. Across the street was Champ’s, a legendary ribs and chicken joint. Looked like they were still doing great business. Customers were pouring in.
I even recognized one of them, knew him by the leather coat he wore. Barry Mayhew. The insensitive roommate who had never once mopped the bathroom floor or defrosted the refrigerator.
It took a couple of seconds to convince myself I wasn’t dreaming. I even used the edge of my scarf to give a quick wipe to my eyeglasses. That was Barry all right. What the hell was he doing in what we reluctantly call the ghetto?
I couldn’t imagine the answer to that. Any more than I knew why I found his presence in the neighborhood not just puzzling but ominous. But I was being foolish, I told myself. Champ’s barbecue was probably the finest pork this side of Charleston. Barry was hardly the first white guy to trek across town for it. And besides that, I lived in the same apartment with him, for god’s sakes. There was every reason in the world for me to go over and join him.
Not a chance. I backed into Skip’s Tavern and went directly over to the window, keeping watch on the door at Champ’s. I asked for a Miller and resumed the vigil.
Barry came out presently carrying a shopping bag with a grease spot on the side of it. Soul food to go. He walked briskly up the block. I saw him struggle a bit with the door to a rusted Volvo I recognized as Dan Zuni’s heap.
I wasn’t dreaming that, either. It was most definitely Dan’s car. I’d been in it a dozen times.
Damn. Something was very wrong. There was a police dragnet out for Dan and his car. If they couldn’t find the Volvo, how had Barry ended up with it? Maybe Barry had known all along where Dan was. Maybe he was hiding him someplace. And now he was . . . what? Bringing him an order of ribs for lunch?
For all I knew, Dan himself was in the car. Hunched down under a blanket on the backseat. Maybe wearing a false beard.
I threw a buck down on the bar, tore outside. But too late. Barry had already driven away.
The confrontation with Woody would have to wait. I ran to the el stop at 43rd and Indiana, eager to get home.
The ride was a long one, what with the change of trains in the Loop. I used the time to try to piece together some rational explanations for what I’d seen. I was stumped.
What should I do? Should I tell Taylor and Cliff and Annabeth I’d seen Barry in the Volvo? Or would that endanger Dan? I guess it was possible the others already knew, that I was the only one not in on the secret.
No, I was being paranoid. Wasn’t I?
I hustled through the Jackson Street station, heading for the exit at Adams. I’d have to come above ground and then switch to the Ravenswood line. My thoughts were all over the place. I don’t know how many times the young black man walking beside me had spoken before I realized he was talking to me. But now he was shouting in my
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