All Seeing Eye by Rob Thurman Read Free Book Online Page B

wasn’t dangerous. In some situations, back-to-the-wall ones, it made people like him—a kid like I’d been—more dangerous, if anything.
    His eyes widened, the whites of them tinged more toward yellow. Hepatitis. Not long for this vale of tears. I didn’t wait to see if the gun made him back off. I went directly to defense line two and used my left hand to activate the alarm system. The button on the closest corner of the desk was red, simple, and small—the results weren’t. The wail threatened to puncture eardrums and bring the police in minutes. It was so loud that, forget Georgia, it might bring every cop in the tristate area to arrest me for disturbing the peace.
    I had a third option, but that one I hadn’t had to use once. The first two always did the trick. The guy was gone so fast, flinging the front door open with such force, that he shattered the glass encasing the chicken wire. When I’d seen my defaced poster, I should’ve known it was going to be a bad day.
    I turned off the alarm. It wasn’t connected to a service. Wasted money. The noise alone was enough to send the thieves running. I replaced the Glock in its holster, but not before noticing the concealing black paint was chipping off the orange tip that was a dead giveaway that it was a fake gun and less lethal than a BB gun. But it was the only gun I would have. I didn’t like guns, and I didn’t like knives, whichmade it more awkward when I noticed the thief had dropped his in the middle of the floor as he ran for it.
    Because, unlike my gun, it was real.
    The body holds eight to ten pints of blood. I saw that on some stupid crime-scene investigation show where everyone is attractive and everyone wears sunglasses at night. I’d been channel surfing one night and wasn’t fast enough to keep surfing before I heard that unnecessary fact. I didn’t know pints or liters or anything like that, but I knew how much blood poured out of your mother when a knife was jammed into one side of her throat and out the other. In three minutes, give or take, it was a lake of blood. A lake you never forgot; a liter was just a word. I’d lay a thousand bucks not one of those actors had seen anything close to what they were blathering about. They were only reading their lines, and not once did it go through their empty heads that what they were saying and pretending was reality to some people.
    A head popped in through the doorway as I dug out the Yellow Pages to call the glass guy to come fix the door. It was Luther, fifty and graying, from Pie and Puds three shops down. The pie was the best in Georgia, and Pud was for when you ordered Luther’s special brew of coffee with a slice. Thick as mud with enough caffeine to guarantee you didn’t sleep for a week. Pie and mud. Pud. I didn’t get it, either, but each to his own. Luther had a faithful elderly clientele that came every day. “Damn, boy,you get robbed again? And can’t you get an alarm that plays Barry White? I got old people in the place. You done made them soak their Depend diapers and scared ’em so bad the false teeth were flying around the room like some cheesy damn horror movie.”
    “Sorry, Luther, but Barry wasn’t in the selection.” I eyed with grim unease the knife on the floor. “The kid dropped it. Would you mind tossing it into the Dumpster on your way out? I’ve got a customer coming and they’re already five minutes late. I have to get my mojo in gear.” I passed a hand in front of my face and reappeared with smooth features, mysterious fathomless gaze, and one raised eyebrow. “Huh? You think?”
    He shook his head, grabbed the switchblade, and headed back out the door. “You are one strange white boy. That’s all I’m saying.”
    Once he was gone, I finished calling the glass place. They were used to calls in this area. The office was in a well-traveled, artsy-funky part of town. It was up and coming, not as well known or expensive to rent as Little Five Points, which