Last of the Independents by Sam Wiebe Read Free Book Online

our part-time embalmer, and Kurt the dispatcher. And my father and I.”
    â€œI’m going to disconnect the red LEDs from the camera,” I said. “I want you to tell everyone just before closing, tonight and tomorrow and the next, that the camera isn’t working and that the system will be down for the next few days. Remind them to lock up.”
    â€œI could tell them there have been vandals in the area, which is why we’re upgrading security. I could even advise them to take all their valuables home.”
    â€œYou could mention it,” I said, “but don’t overdo the theatrics. We don’t want this to look like a trap. Best to just add a few words to the bottom of a memo or post it in the break room.”
    â€œUnderstood,” Younger said. “You’ll be here tonight?”
    â€œAfter closing.”
    â€œI’ll inform Pop.”
    I stood up. “I’ll let myself out.”
    B en was leaning on the hood of the Camry, vest off, shirt unbuttoned, a touch of sick around his mouth.
    â€œCan you bring the car back for seven tomorrow?” I asked him as I unlocked the trunk.
    â€œYou’re really going to stay there overnight?”
    â€œLooks that way.”
    In a nylon tech bag in the trunk I keep a laptop and a pair of battery-operated wireless cameras. I also keep an overnight bag. Depending on the situation, I sometimes bring a gun.
    I opened the suitcase, pulled out enough clothes so I could fit the tech bag inside, and covered it with a toiletries kit. Ben looked like he needed some encouragement.
    â€œYou get used to it,” I said. “It’s like if you lived near a rendering plant. You stop minding after a while.”
    â€œHow long is a while?”
    â€œIt’s less of a shock every time.”
    â€œWhen’d you see your first?” Ben asked.
    â€œAugust, year before I graduated high school. Victim died of exsanguination, meaning he bled out from a neck wound.” Adding the inevitable, “My grandfather.”
    â€œOh,” Ben said. “Hey. Sorry.”
    â€œYou didn’t kill him.”
    I took out the suitcase and closed the trunk. “I’ve got two hours to kill. Drop me at the Wendy’s just up the street.” Then, to lighten the mood, I added, “You know the sound maggots make when they’re gnawing on soft tissue?”
    â€œNo.”
    I simulated it.
    Ben doubled over and puked straight into the gutter.
    L ater, in the silence and darkness of the office, with the cameras up and trained to cover the perimeter of the embalming room, I sat back in the sumptuous leather chair in the Kroons’ sumptuous office and dialed the number for Aries Security and Investigations.
    â€œMay I ask who’s calling?” the office manager said.
    â€œBill Billings. I’m phoning on the recommendation of Constable Gavin Fisk. Would it be possible to speak to Mr. McEachern, please?”
    â€œJust a moment, sir.”
    The dominant sounds in the still evening were the hum of the freezer in the adjacent room and the whir of the laptop’s hard drive. No movement in the embalming room.
    â€œRoy McEachern speaking. Mr. Billings, is it? What can I do for you?”
    I said, “You could have the courtesy to return a fucking phone call.”
    â€œIs that Michael Drayton?” McEachern laughed, staccato bursts that taxed the phone’s speaker. “Well, Mike, you got through. I have to hand it to you.”
    â€œYou blocked my caller ID?”
    â€œWe had several offensive crank calls from that number.”
    â€œWhat a pity. That robot who answers your phone must be quite distressed.”
    â€œWe could go back and forth all night,” McEachern said. “My time’s too valuable, I don’t know about yours.”
    â€œI’ve inherited an ex-client of yours named Cliff Szabo.”
    More of McEachern’s easy laughter. “Mike Drayton and