Canary by Duane Swierczynski Read Free Book Online Page A

because the connections down there are so unreliable, but she’s thinking of him all the time, and she misses the kids so very much.
    It doesn’t matter that Kevin knows The Fiction is exactly that. Kevin’s never even met Laura’s mother, nor will he ever. He has no idea about the condition of the woman’s hips. And the real Laura would never go a day without hearing the voices of her children. She never could understand how Kevin could travel for days at a time and seem to be okay without hopping on the phone on a regular basis. Laura never traveled alone, and even if she did, she wouldn’t let many hours pass without hearing from her babies.
    So today is Thanksgiving and Laura isn’t here because she’s taking care of her mother in Guadalajara. They’re going to have a small meal together because they don’t do Thanksgiving in Mexico—Laura always thought the holiday was bizarre anyway.
    Sober up, Kevin, you’re on duty this holiday.
    Kevin exits the men’s room, pulling his roller bag behind him.
    Sarie pulls up to the crowded curb looking happy to see him. Behind the open trunk Kevin hugs his daughter tightly, hoping the five mints he chewed and the cold morning air are enough to mask the lovely
eau de Daniels
that he’s sure is oozing from his pores.
    “How was the party?” he asks.
    “You know, pretty much what I expected,” Sarie says. “How was San Diego?”
    “They kept me busy pretty much the entire time. Though I did manage to sneak off to the Gaslamp to walk around a little.”
    Kevin told his kids he was visiting his ex-colleagues at the retreat for a couple of days. Which was true. But he didn’t tell them he was up for a job at the retreat. And he wouldn’t—not until he was sure the job was his and the contracts were signed.
    “No La Jolla?” Sarie asks.
    “Why would I do that?” Kevin says sharply, and just like that, the awkward silence is back. La Jolla. Why did she bring that up? Of course to her it’s a happy memory; to Kevin, it’s a brutal reminder that The Fiction is Fiction. He does a forensic analysis in his head and realizes he may have snapped at his daughter. Fuck.
    “Did you end up driving Tammy home last night?” he asks, as Sarie merges onto I-95. Planes scream overhead. Everybody’s coming in for a landing on the busiest travel day of the year.
    “No. She didn’t show.”
    “Seriously? That whore!”
    Sarie giggles. “Yeah, well.”
    “So you were there alone?”
    “I knew some people from the triple, so that was fine. And before you ask, I limited myself to one can of beer, nursed lovingly over a period of four hours.”
    How much did you limit yourself to, Kevin?
    “I think you can handle more than one beer, Sarie. You could have had a little, I don’t know, fun?”
    “The beer wasn’t very good. Anyway, I don’t have any of the sides ready yet. And I didn’t start the stuffing, either. By the time I got home I was exhausted and just crashed and then I got up to pick you up and—”
    “Don’t worry. We’ve got all day. Seriously.”
    The Civic speeds past some of the most depressing vistas Philadelphia has to offer. Abandoned fields of industrial muck and a few struggling refineries. Burst of fire in the distance. Smoke. Weedy swamps and dump sites. Must be a shock to tourists when they land and hail a cab to the City of Brotherly Love and feel like they’re pulling into the set of
Blade Runner.
    “Dad?”
    “Yeah?”
    “You told me to always tell you when something happens, no matter what, right? And you won’t freak out?”
    Kevin’s stomach sinks. Sure, he probably meant the words when he spoke them. Doesn’t mean he actually wants to hear the words that will follow. Instantly his mind sprints to dark places. Roofies, and grabby hands, and worse. He glances over at his daughter. She’s seemingly no worse for wear, no visible bruises. But Kevin knows that doesn’t mean anything, which takes him to an even darker place.
    “You can