Darknet by John R. Little Read Free Book Online Page B

your bodies.”
    “Okay.”
    “I’ll do the planning. Come back here on July 15. I’ll be ready to talk to you more then.”
    “That’s nine days away . . .”
    “You in a hurry, lady? Or do you want it done right?”
    “It’s okay. I’ll be back then.”
    “Good-night.”
    “Good-night.”
    Cindy logged off of Tor, shut her computer off, and started to walk up to bed, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have much luck finding her way to sleep tonight.
     

 
     
     
     
Chapter 6
July 7
     
     
    There are 27 stores in the Seattle area that sell musical instruments. Of those, 18 sell guitars, usually alongside other types of instruments.
    Tony McKay loved to wander to all the different stores and see what new inventory they had. He’d taken to devoting Mondays and Tuesdays to checking out the competition. Jesse didn’t care. The busy days were later in the week, and even then Jesse was able to handle the store on his own most days. It was rare for Tony to go window shopping at the other stores on a Thursday, but today he’d just felt like getting out. Seattle’s First Music was dead, likely a hangover effect from the fourth of July. It didn’t seem like anybody was particularly interested in spending Independence Day (or the whole freaking week) looking at a new drum set or clarinet.
    Jesse himself sat behind the cash register all morning reading People Weekly and the Seattle Times . That alone told Tony more than he needed to know. Tony never just sat there like that.
    “Waste of a day,” said Tony as he stood up and stretched. They’d only had three customers come in. One wanted new strings to replace his broken ones, one wanted a price on an alto saxophone (and promptly headed back out as soon as she heard the price was $300), and the third wanted directions to the closest Starbucks.
    Jesse scratched his beard and adjusted his glasses. With his long dark hair, he always reminded Tony of John Lennon, circa 1970, a hippie lost in time.
    “The weekend will be bigger,” said Jesse. “If not, there’s always next week.”
    Tony nodded, wondering how Jesse ever managed to pay the rent on the store. Not my problem, thank God , he thought.
    As long as Tony’s pay check didn’t bounce (and it never had), he didn’t much care about the cash flow of the business. He got paid, Jesse was happy; what more did a successful store need?
    Well, customers to beat away the boredom would be nice.
    Before lunch, Tony had spent a couple of hours working on a new song. In his heart of hearts, he knew he was still a songwriter and always would be. It was what God placed him on this stinking little planet to do. Write songs.
    If the fucking public didn’t like them, well, all that proved is that the U.S. of fucking A. was filled with millions of idiots. He knew his own songs were constantly improving, even if nobody else wanted to hear anything from him but Summer Drive.
    “Gonna head out,” he called to Jesse. “See you tomorrow.”
    Jesse just nodded and half-waved at Tony as if he were already long-gone.
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    Tony already knew the route he would take. He was headed to Bellevue, the sister city to the east of Seattle. It’d been a few months since he’d journeyed over there.
    The drive was one of the most enjoyable he ever took when scouting music stores. He loved taking the long, low Evergreen Point Floating Bridge over Lake Washington. Somehow it just relaxed his mind.
    There were three stores he planned on hitting. The first was a run-down and crowded place that bordered on being a junk shop. The instruments were placed haphazardly around the store on tables, chairs, benches, and even the floor.
    But they had nice stuff. Nicer than Seattle’s First Music, although he’d never say that to Jesse.
    The Music Emporium had only one problem: the owner was a cranky old man who didn’t much care if Tony was the greatest singer since Sinatra. He didn’t want to listen to how great Summer Drive