Read Online Untold Damage by Robert K. Lewis - Free Book Online Page A

of place or blemish on his uniform. Had rookie written all over him.
    â€œ You’re correct there, Mallen,” the kid said. “You smell worse than a bucket of rotting meat. Come on, you’re outta here.”
    â€œBeen three days?” Felt like he had fallen into a black hole for at least a month. As he sat up his vision cleared. He was weak as a baby. How the hell could he get home, or find a meal? Could he even eat? His stomach felt like it was mostly holding its own. Maybe he could.
    â€œYeah, three days. Inspector Kane wanted me to give you a message: go home, get some rest, and he’ll see you later. Can you make it?”
    He stood up, wavering on his feet. His apartment was a long-ass way away. Getting on a bus looking and smelling the way he did wasn’t an option, no matter how sick he was. He didn’t want to be seen by anyone for awhile. “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou got some money on the books. You can catch a cab outside.”
    â€œI do?”
    â€œYeah, we booked it in when we booked you.”
    Obie. “Okay, thanks. Yeah, that’ll be fine.”
    â€œCome on then, life awaits.”

Eight
    Mallen watched as Chris picked up her bowling ball, went to the line, got set, then proceeded to throw another gutter ball. Her list of curses would’ve sent a sailor running for cover. He laughed as he got to his feet to take his turn. “I told you,” he said as he picked up his bowling ball, “try not to cross your arm across your chest.”
    â€œOh bite me, Mr. Bowler Man,” she said with an answering laugh. He’d always loved how competitive she could be, in everything. Back in college, she’d always competed with him and the other students. Even in bed, it seemed she was competing to see who could have the biggest orgasm. That part, he had to admit, he didn’t mind at all.
    Eric sat at the score deck. He yelled at Mallen, “Try to keep it in our lane this time, man!”
    He laughed at that in reply. Mallen was killing them, as he knew he would. His dad, Ol’ Monster Mallen, had been a great bowler, and had taught him all he knew about it. Monster could’ve gone pro. Had bowled semipro at a couple points in his life but had chosen to knock down bad guys rather than seven-ten splits. But even in something like bowling, the old man had done what he’d usually done: taught his son to never settle for anything less than perfection. Fuck that “second best” crap. All that training and yelling had made Mallen a pretty fair bowler.
    Now he set his feet, glanced down the lane, chose that sweet spot on the first set of arrows painted on the lane, and let her rip. The ball sailed down the lane like a laser-equipped missile. The clash of the ball hitting the pins, resulting in a nice, clean strike, drew a wave of groans from Chris and Eric. He smiled as he went and sat down next to Chris, resting his hand on the nape of her neck. He glanced over at Eric.
    â€œOkay, punk,” he said in his best Dirty Harry voice, “your move.”
    â€œI find myself suddenly hating bowling,” Eric said as he got up and went to take his turn.

    Mallen worked his way through the heavy Friday night crowd in the emergency room at SF General. He’d told Franco only that something had come up, that it involved a bitch he cared about, and that she was sick, taken to the hospital. Franco had been pissed and a bit wary. There were big things going down, and the drug dealer was feeling pressed, from what felt like every point on the compass. He was getting edgy, paranoid, sometimes reminding Mallen of Hitler in his bunker. That feeling was filtering down to everyone in the upper echelons. So this needing to go and see Eric couldn’t have come at a worse time, but what the fuck was he going to do? Not go?
    He had to.
    Eric had been shot trying to stop a liquor store holdup. Called in as a 911, first cop on the scene.