A Shared Confidence by William Topek Read Free Book Online Page B

only chance now is to swim through more if it until you can make your way to dry land again. Go back to your hotel and get some sleep. Eat a decent dinner tonight. Then get some more sleep and tomorrow take a nice hot shower, put on some clean clothes, get a shave and a haircut. See how you feel then, see if maybe that long swim to the shore doesn’t seem just a little more possible. Because I’m here to tell you, Mr. Ryland, if you try to swim in any other direction, looking for an easier way out or a way to get back at the people who did this to you, you’ll never get the stink of that river off you.”
    Would he listen? Would he at least think about it? There was no way to tell and it wasn’t my problem either way. I’d done what I could for the man. If he chose to spend the rest of his life licking his wounds, bemoaning the unfairness of what happened to him, well, that was his affair.
    â€œI do want to thank you, Mr. Caine,” he said, offering his hand. “At least I know the police aren’t after me, that I didn’t help somebody get away with murder.”
    â€œThen you’re better off than yesterday,” I smiled. “Things are already looking up.”
    We shook hands and parted ways.
    I walked into my outer office and Gail turned from her typewriter to face me. She wouldn’t ask me directly, she’d just stare at me with huge, puppy-dog eyes until I gave her something.
    â€œYes, I listened to your sad case,” I told her with mock annoyance.
    â€œIs he going to be all right?”
    â€œHow the hell should I know?” She just kept staring and I sighed heavily. “His problems aren’t as bad as he thought,” I said truthfully. “Not nearly so bad. He as a few to be sure, but nothing insurmountable.”
    â€œThere’s nothing you can do for him?”
    â€œNothing more than I already have, Gail. I listened to him and I set him straight on a couple of things. Tried to anyway. The rest is up to him.”
    She nodded, satisfied, and went back to her typing.
    That Friday evening I left my office and headed around the corner to Lonnigan’s, figuring to relax with a drink or two. There are few things I enjoy more than passing a quiet couple of hours in my favorite bar, though it’s a decidedly more controlled indulgence these days. I wasn’t exaggerating about having hit a rough patch at the end of last year. I’d made my way through an especially tough case, had ended up crossing some lines I didn’t want to cross and doing some things that made it difficult to live with myself sober. So for awhile, I didn’t. My work went to hell and I found myself avoiding my secretary. And people in general.
    One night in the dark of December I was at Lonnigan’s, weaving on my barstool and embarrassing myself in front of the other customers. In fact, I’d fallen off the damn stool for the second time that night, which was hardly the record in that joint but apparently there were different rules in place for me. Lonnigan had finally had enough and caught my wrist in a ring of steel as I was sloshing a glass to my mouth. I looked up from the thick-fingered hand to the brawny shoulders, trying to pick out a pair of blue eyes that I knew had to be somewhere through that haze.
    â€œYou’ve had sufficient for tonight,” Lonnigan said simply. “Time to leave.”
    I stared at him hotly for a moment. He released my arm and I turned the remains of my drink upside down over the bar.
    â€œGet out.” It was the voice I’d heard him use before on souses, rumpots, and other losers. I gathered my injured pride (sounds manlier than hurt feelings) and picked up my hat, flinging spilled scotch off the brim.
    â€œThought you were my friend, Mickey,” I said in a wounded slur.
    â€œI am, Devlin,” he said, his voice quite low. “Maybe one o’ your last, it’s