Recoil by Brian Garfield Read Free Book Online

“Darling?”
    She looked up at Bradleigh. “He’s coming out of it.”
    â€œI’m freezing to death. Look at me—goose bumps.”
    â€œGet him a blanket.” Bradleigh sent the cop away. “You with us now, Fred?”
    â€œI think so. Funny, it’s like Inch ŏ n. Artillery flashes—it’s lit up here and there but I can’t make the picture stand still. Give me another shot of that stuff.”
    The cop brought a blanket and Bradleigh swapped the empty glass for it. “Refill.”
    His teeth were chattering. He clutched the blanket around him like a Sioux. “Been a long time since I got shot at. But I wouldn’t have thought I’d have gone all to pieces like this.”
    â€œYou want a cigarette?” Bradleigh shook out his pack.
    â€œI quit six years ago.”
    â€œThat was six years ago.”
    â€œI’d only burn holes in this blanket.”
    The cop gave him the refilled glass and he drank it straight down. It burned. Bourbon, he realized.
    Bradleigh took the empty glass. “That’s probably enough. You don’t want to get schnockered.”
    â€œAll right, I’m mostly here. Tell me what the hell happened.”
    Jan looked up at Bradleigh and caught his nod. She said, “We were all here in Roger and Amy’s house. We heard the blast. Then a lot of sirens, and somebody phoned Roger and told him our house had exploded. We all went up there.”
    Bradleigh said, “A few people heard the car going away fast but only a couple of people saw it. There haven’t been any descriptions we could use. One of your neighbors had phoned the police and they got up there fast, if it matters. The way we’ve reconstructed it, the car came down from the top of the canyon, at least two men in it—a driver and the guy who threw the bomb. Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m just peachy. For God’s sake.”
    â€œLook, at least nobody got hurt.”
    â€œGo on, then.”
    â€œI don’t know what else to tell you. Frank Pastor was awarded parole today. He’ll be out in a day or two. How does that grab you, Goddamnit?”
    Jan burst into abrupt laughter. Mathieson reached out and she sagged against him, burying her face against his chest, the laughter going into sobs.
    â€œYou’re alive,” Bradleigh said in his stern monotone.
    â€œAre we supposed to be grateful about that?”
    â€œYou will be when you’ve had time to think about it.”
    â€œWhat about right now? How are we supposed to feel right now?”
    â€œThey don’t make rules about it.”
    â€œI just want this to be a bad dream.”
    2
    By midnight Amy Gilfillan was in bed, drugged to sleep, and the house had emptied out but there were still cops outside standing guard. The TV trucks and lights were gone. Ronny dozed on the couch; most of the lights were off; Roger had taken Billy back to put him to bed; Jan sat half drunk on the ottoman.
    Mathieson went to the bar. Anger made his hands shake and Bradleigh shouldered him aside. “I’ll do it. What are you having?”
    â€œMight as well stick with bourbon. Rocks.”
    He waited without patience and finally took the glass from Bradleigh; he turned. “What now?”
    â€œWe’ll have to get you out of here. They’ll try again.” Bradleigh closed the refrigerator door. He was drinking orange juice. “It was my job to prevent this.”
    â€œDon’t get maudlin, Glenn. You’re not responsible. You didn’t sling any bombs.”
    The phone rang and Bradleigh took it; Mathieson couldn’t hear what he said but afterward Bradleigh came across the room and stood beside him. “Looks like they’ve slipped the net. If we were going to collar them locally we’d have had them by now. Either we’ll get a tip from a CI or we’ll have to go at it from another