Shovel Ready by Adam Sternbergh Read Free Book Online

I have a dishwasher too. Never used.
    I like to clean up my own mess, as a rule.
    She wanders over to the fridge while I’m not paying attention.
    Stainless steel. Sub-Zero. A remnant from the Wall Street types.
    You got any ice cream?
    She glances over.
    So sue me. I’m pregnant.
    Opens the freezer.
    Inside, a single Ziploc baggie. Inside the Ziploc, a butcher-paper-wrapped package, about the size of a brick.
    Cat arches again, but playful.
    What’s this? Your secret stash?
    I step over right-quick.
    That? No.
    She pulls the baggie out. Holds it up. Laughing now. Teasing.
    What, you deal coke? Is that how you afford this place?
    I snatch the bag back.
    No. I do a bit of butchering.
    Really?
    It’s a hobby.
    Cool. So what’s that? Please tell me it’s bacon.
    No. Not bacon. Just bones. For stock.
    Well, look at you, Mr Julia Child. Let me know if you rustle up some bacon. I’m not a big meat eater but I’ve had weird cravings of late.
    Rubs her belly.
    I stash the bag. Close the freezer. Step between her and it.
    Try to smile.
    Can’t let the cold out.
    I don’t have many visitors. So I get sloppy. Forget.
    A freezer is a very bad place to keep your souvenirs.

10.
    Lazy Sunday. Me in an armchair. Her on the sofa with Sports.
    Regular Cleavers.
    I flip through the
Post
.
    A22. Tiny item.
    DEATH DINER DOUBLE SLAY .
    The American Century.
    I fold the paper back. Read it. Fill in the parts between the lines.
    Surveillance tape caught him: Buzz cut. Aviators. Left the cash in the cash drawer.
    Odd detail. Before he left, everyone dead, he holstered the pistol.
    Stopped at the sink.
    Washed his hands.
    Buzz cut. Aviators.
    Fondness for firearms.
    This must be Mr Pilot.
    Retracing our steps.
    Bus-fare option doesn’t seem like an option anymore.
    I fold the paper up, slide it under the chair.
    You know, you could stay here again tonight. A few more nights. I’ve got plenty of sweatshirts.
    She yawns. Stretches out on the leather. Leather squeaks.
    I just might.
    Turns her head. Freshly showered hair.
    Might even learn how to sleep with the door unlocked. If you’re lucky.
    Well, you’re welcome to. Stay, I mean.
    I gotta ask you again. Why are you being so nice to me?
    Everyone’s got to be nice to someone, right?
    I get up. Pretend I’m tidying the kitchen. Try to plot plan B.
    She turns back to Sports. Then stops. Sits up.
    Stares me down.
    My father sent you. Didn’t he?
    I stand like a dummy. With a dishcloth.
    Who?
    You know who. T. K. Harrow. Man of God.
    I’m not religious.
    Don’t fuck with me. He sent you. It’s the only way this makes sense.
    I’m no good at lying. Same as acting.
    Yes. He sent me. To find you.
    (Technically true.)
    And do what with me?
    Keep you safe.
    (Less true. Much less true.)
    Bring me back?
    Something like that.
    She sits up straight. Picks up the bowie knife in its sheath from the coffee table.
    Turns it in her fingers.
    Well, let me tell you about how things work in my family, just so you know what kind of people you’re working for. I stopped in on my uncle. In Brooklyn. For help? You know what he did for me?
    (More acting. I hate this.)
    No.
    Set me up on a blind date. A double date. With two rapists. Or white slavers. Sex-trade assholes. Who the fuck knows?
    Sounds like a charmer.
    Lucky for me, the only place they didn’t want to stick their grubby hands was in my boot.
    She pulls the blade from the stained sheath.
    Last I saw them, they were bleeding in a van in Red Hook.
    I affect a shrug. Hapless Mitch all over again.
    Sounds like they got better than they deserve.
    She inspects the blade.
    Does come in handy.
    Sheaths it.
    As for my father. The great T. K. Harrow? Leader of men? Pastor of sheep? Instrument of God?
    Pulls the blade out again.
    You’ve probably seen him on TV, right?
    Don’t watch TV.
    That’s okay. He’s got bigger plans than that. Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into? Do you have any idea what kind of man my father is?
    I’m starting