At the City's Edge by Marcus Sakey Read Free Book Online Page B

minifridge and came up with a can of soda.
     ‘You just watch the cartoons, okay?’
    A sudden look of terror swept across his face, but she spoke immediately, her voice honey. ‘Don’t you worry. We’ll be right
     here.’ Jason followed Lauretta to the curtain, marveling at her ease, how in control she was. He was Billy’s uncle, supposedly
     a guy who could take care of him, but she was the one who knew what the boy needed. Jason wanted to thank her, but what he
     said was, ‘What happened?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Po-lice wouldn’t tell me much.’
    ‘Is…’ He hesitated, afraid to ask the only question
that mattered, terror slopping like water against a weakening dam. ‘Is Michael okay?’
    She stared, her eyes soft and sad, and he knew the answer. The levees inside him broke. He heard a faint whimper and was surprised
     to realize he had made it.
    His brother was dead.
    Michael had needed help, Jason hadn’t been there, and now his brother was dead.
    The world tilted. He felt dizzy, put one hand against the doorframe. An iron voice sounded inside of him, a voice he hadn’t
     heard in months. Telling him
straighten up, soldier.
Telling him this wasn’t the time. He took a deep breath, and wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. ‘Will you… can
     you watch Billy for a little while?’
    She gave him a look that made him wish he were five again, could hug himself to her dress and feel safe. ‘Of course.’
    He knelt beside the couch, his face level with Billy’s. The boy was obviously still in shock, but his pupils seemed a little
     less dilated, the tension in his shoulders a bit looser. Familiar surroundings.
    ‘Buddy, I’m going to go out for a minute. But Lauretta’s going to sit with you. Is that okay?’
    Billy looked at him, then up at Lauretta. He nodded. Jason squeezed his shoulder, stood up and stepped through the curtains.
    ‘Jason.’ She fiddled with the belt of her dress, then raised her eyes to meet his. ‘Your brother, he was a good man, and careful.
     It don’t seem right that he’d
have fallen down drunk in his own bar, let it burn around him.’
    A chill ran down his spine. Again he heard the words in his mind.
    I met with the cops.
    You mean you informed on a gang?
    ‘No ma’am,’ he said, his hands clenching to fists. ‘It doesn’t.’

8. Dark Spots
    She hated when the good guys died.
    Cruz had driven over cop-style, stopping at red lights only long enough to check oncoming traffic before rolling through.
     Parked the unmarked across the street, behind an ambulance where bored EMTs sipped coffee. A couple of beat cops were interviewing
     bystanders. It was just past noon, the air still and sticky. Blast-furnace heat.
    On the ride down, her main emotion had been concern for a guy she knew, a real person in a neighborhood of assholes. Now,
     nostrils burning with the stink of ash, the anger was starting to come as well. Michael Palmer had been a good man
    She rearranged her cuffs so they didn’t dig into her back and crossed the street. The responding units had taped off the sidewalk,
     and she ducked under it. Men in bunker pants and jackets sorted through the rubble with shovels. The reflective stripes on
     their clothing shone bright. One held what looked like a portable radio with a wand that he ran above the wreckage, eliciting
     clicks like a Geiger counter. A tall guy held a hand to his mouth, shouted. ‘Behind the tape, lady.’
    She pulled aside her suit jacket to show the star on her waist.

    He nodded, gave her a
one-second
gesture, and started threading his way through the blackened rubble. Each step kicked up a puff of smoky dust that hung in
     the still air.
    ‘You the fire investigator?’
    He nodded, pulled off white latex gloves with a snap of soot, held out a hand. ‘Tom Huff. You?’
    She introduced herself, told him she was with Gang Intelligence, that she knew the owner. ‘What’s the story?’
    ‘It was set last