Days of Rage: A Smokey Dalton Novel by Kris Nelscott Read Free Book Online Page A

zoning or something like that.”
    “Make up a plan,” I said. “Who would know that you didn’t intend to go through with it?”
    She glared at me. “And leave those unknown people in the basement?”
    I shrugged.
    “Smokey, even if I wanted to — and I don’t — they’d get discovered when we tore the building down.”
    “Years from now,” I said. “The building’s well made. It’ll last a while. And you’ll have solidified your position at Sturdy then. There’ll be a scandal, but by then you’d be able to weather it.”
    She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. I’d wonder who those people were and what they did to deserve such a horrible fate.”
    Her hand was clenched into a fist beside her water glass. I put my hand on top of her thumb.
    “That’s what I’m talking about,” I said. “Ethics. I just gave you the chance to pretend you didn’t know any of this. I gave you a solution that a lot of CEOs would have taken, and you won’t do it.”
    “I’ll probably pay for it,” she said.
    “At least financially,” I said. “Because this isn’t something I can do alone.”
    The waitress came back with our pies. One piece was already in a little cardboard pie-shaped box, just waiting for Jimmy. Laura slid it toward me as she also grabbed the check from the waitress.
    “Smooth,” I said.
    “It’s a business lunch,” she said. “My business.”
    One of the students looked our way then. Apparently he had overheard that, and hadn’t been thinking we were having a business lunch.
    “You guys should really factor in John Maynard Keyes,” I said, letting the student know that I could hear his conversation t oo. “Or haven’t you gotten to him yet?”
    “It’s 101,” the student muttered , and blushed. Obviously, he had no idea who Keynes was.
    They all looked at us, then turned their chairs slightly, making it clear they were shutting us out.
    Laura grinned. “How do you do that?”
    “What?” I asked.
    “Say the right thing to get people off your back?”
    I shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
    The waitress had watched the interaction too. “Now is there anything else?” she asked me.
    I shook my head.
    “I’m going on break,” she announced as if she thought we cared, and left us.
    Laura ate a bite of pie. I slid my plate closer.
    “Is there any way to tell how long those bodies have been there?” she asked quietly.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose a specialist like a coroner or medical examiner can guess within a range of years or decades. I didn’t get a good enough look down there. Things in the basement might point us to a date as well.”
    “Things?” Laura asked.
    “Clothing, items in the pockets, or even the type of brick used , or mortar.”
    She nodded. “But we’re going to need an official eventually.”
    “It depends on what you want to do,” I said. “If you want to clear them out and give them a decent burial, no, we don’t need anyone other than a funeral home.”
    “Smokey,” she said loudly. Then she took a deep breath and lowered her voice so much that I had to lean forward to hear her. “These people were most likely murdered. Someone did something bad in that place. Isn’t it our responsibility to find out who?”
    “Why is it our responsibility?” I asked , more to hear how her thoughts went than to challenge her. My natural inclination would be to find out what happened as well, but I also knew there were times you just let things fade into the past.
    “We found them,” she said.
    “I found them,” I said.
    “And you don’t feel responsible for them?”
    I shook my head. “I do feel curious, however.”
    Her lips thinned and she leaned even closer to me. Our faces were practically touching. “What if the person responsible is still alive?”
    I leaned back. I felt as if our very posture was calling attention to us. A lot of people in Chicago didn’t like blacks and whites at the same table, let alone