Stay Close by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online Page B

long blocks in many other ways) from Atlantic City’s Boardwalk. The bouncer, an old-timer named Larry, already knew him.
    “Yo, Broome.”
     
    “Hey, Larry.”
     
    “Business or pleasure?” Larry asked.
     
    “Business. Rudy here?”
     
    “In his office.”
     
    It was ten A.M. , but the place still had a few pathetic customers and even more pathetic dancers. One staff member set up the always-popular, all-you-can-eat (“food only”—ha-ha) buffet, mixing congealed food trays from Lord knows how many days ago. It would be trite to note that the buffet was a salmonella outbreak waiting to happen, but sometimes trite is the only sock in the drawer.
     
    Rudy sat behind his desk. He could have worked as an extra on
The
Sopranos,
except the casting director would deem him too much on type. He was a big man, sporting a gold chain thick enough to pull up a Carnival Cruise anchor and a pinkie ring that most of his dancers could wear around their wrists.
     
    “Hey, Broome.”
     
    “What’s happening, Rudy?”
     
    “Something I can do for you?”
     
    “Do you know who Carlton Flynn is?” Broome asked.
     
    “Sure. Little pissant poser with show muscles and a booth tan.”
     
    “You know he’s missing?”
     
    “Yeah, I heard something about that.”
     
    “Don’t get all broken up about it.”
     
    “I’m all cried out,” Rudy said.
     
    “Anything you can tell me about him?”
     
    “The girls say he’s got a tiny dick.” Rudy lit a cigar and pointed it at Broome. “Steroids, my friend. Stay away from them. They make the cojones shrivel into raisins.”
     
    “Appreciate both the health advice and imagery. Anything else?”
     
    “He probably frequented a lot of clubs,” Rudy said.
     
    “He did.”
     
    “So why bug me?”
     
    “Because he’s missing. Like Stewart Green.”
     
    That made Rudy’s eyes widen. “So? What was that, twenty years ago?”
     
    “Seventeen.”
     
    “Long time ago. In a place like Atlantic City, it’s a lifetime.”
     
    Boy, did that make sense. You live in dog years here. Everything ages faster.
     
    And, yes, though it was not widely reported, Stewart Green, doting dad of little Susie and Brandon, devoted husband of cancer-stricken Sarah, enjoyed La Crème’s bottle service and the company of strippers. He kept a separate credit card with the bills coming to his office address. Broome had eventually told Sarah about it, in as gentle terms as he could, and her reaction had surprised him.
     
    “Lots of married men go to the clubs,” Sarah had said. “So what?”
     
    “Did you know?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    But Sarah was lying. He had seen that flash of hurt in her eyes.
     
    “And it doesn’t matter,” she insisted.
     
    And in one way, it didn’t. The fact that a man might be enjoying innocent ogling or even getting his freak on had nothing to do with the importance of locating him. On the other hand, as Broome started to question patrons and employees of La Crème, a rather disturbing and lurid picture emerged.
     
    “Stewart Green,” Rudy said. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time. So what’s the connection?”
     
    “Only two things, Rudy.” Because, Broome knew, there was very little else Green and Flynn had in common. Stewart Green was married, a father of two, hard working. Carlton Flynn was single, pampered, living off Daddy. “One, they both went missing on the exact same day, albeit seventeen years apart. And two”—Broome gestured—“this quality establishment.”
     
    In the movies, guys like Rudy never cooperated with the cops. In reality, they didn’t want trouble or unsolved crimes either. “So how can I help?”
     
    “Did Flynn have a favorite girl?”
     
    “You mean like Stewart had Cassie?”
     
    Broome said nothing, letting the dark cloud pass.
     
    “Because, well, none of my girls are missing, if that’s what you mean.”
     
    Broome still said nothing. Stewart Green did indeed have a favorite