Falls the Shadow by William Lashner Read Free Book Online Page A

handbag for her wallet. From the wallet she pulled out five new twenties as if she were pulling out lint and gently tucked them inside the envelope.
    “Although, to be honest,” I said, “I’d prefer a check.”
    “Really? I thought you’d be a cash-and-carry type of fellow.”
    Suddenly I wasn’t so entranced. Some people act like they’re doing you the favor of your life when they pay you what you’re owed.
    “You thought wrong,” I said. “Cash creates all kinds of accounting problems, cash deposits and withdrawals make the bank uncomfortable, as you surely know, since you withdrew only as much as you could without triggering the bank’s reporting requirements. But whatever you might have thought, we run an honest business here. We like our funds accounted for. I’ll need a check.”
    “Will a cashier’s check do?”
    “Personal check.”
    “That won’t be possible.”
    I sat back, lifted a foot onto the edge of my desk, looked at her very carefully. She had been rude to me, and I didn’t like that, but she wasn’t enjoying herself. There was something wrong. “Who are you to François Dubé?”
    “It’s not important.”
    “For me to accept the funds, I need to know why you are paying his retainer.”
    “I have my reasons.”
    “You’re going to have to tell them to me.”
    She lifted the envelope off the desk. “I’m not here to talk. Here’s the money, Mr. Carl. Take it or leave it.”
    “I think I’ll leave it.”
    She threw her head back as if she had smelled something repugnant. Me, I supposed.
    “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Whatever,” I said, dropping my foot down, turning my attention to the mess on my desktop. I pulled out a piece of paper, some meaningless letter, and took a pen to it. “My secretary will see you out.”
    “But what about your client?”
    “He’s not my client until I get paid.”
    “And I’m trying to pay you.”
    I looked up. “But you’re not trying hard enough. Why don’t we start with names? Welcome to the firm of Derringer and Carl. I’m Victor Carl, and you are…”
    “Velma Takahashi,” she said.
    I leaned back. “Very good. Takahashi, huh? How do I know that name?”
    “My husband’s deals are often in the papers.”
    “Samuel Takahashi, the real estate mogul?”
    “Not quite a mogul.”
    “Quite enough. And you don’t want to pay with a check, which means you don’t want a record of the payment that might get back to your husband.”
    “Did someone beat you in the face with a clever stick, Mr. Carl? Is that why your cheek is swollen?”
    “This is fun, isn’t it, communicating like human beings? I ask pertinent questions, you give me reasonable facsimiles of answers along with your insults. Next thing you know, we’ll be square-dancing together.”
    “I don’t do-si-do.”
    “People do all sorts of things they never expected. Your being in my office, for one. Now, Mrs. Takahashi, what is your relationship with François Dubé?”
    “I have no relationship with François Dubé. He’s the worst type of scoundrel.”
    “But you’re paying ten thousand dollars to get him out of jail.”
    “My feelings for him, however bitter they may be, are beside the point. I was a friend of Leesa’s since well before her marriage.”
    “And you think it a friendly gesture to pay for the defense of the man convicted of her murder.”
    “I think it’s what she would have wanted.”
    “Now, that’s a lie. I don’t half believe a word you’ve said from the moment I laid eyes on you, Mrs. Takahashi, including the Mrs. and the Takahashi, but this I know is a lie. Leesa Dubé was in a bitter custody fight; she was making brutal accusations against her husband. The one thing that would have cheered her about her own murder was that because of it her husband was sentenced to spend the rest of his life behind bars.”
    “You didn’t know her, Mr. Carl. She wasn’t like that. In the end it was bitter, true, but he was the father