Stone Quarry by S.J. Rozan Read Free Book Online

there?"
    I shook my head. "You didn't even know he was down there or you wouldn't have sent me down. But you do know something, Tony. About what?"
    Tony didn't answer. I sipped my bourbon, tried again. "What did Grice want last night?"
    "Ah, shit!" He slammed his glass onto the table. "He thinks he's got somethin' on Jimmy."
    "Does he?"
    Tony poured himself another slug of gin. He didn't speak.
    "What does he want?" I asked. "For whatever he's got?"
    He shrugged, drank. "I told him to go to hell."
    "Does that mean you don't know? Or you don't care?"
    He started to stand, his face darkening. He started to speak, too, but stopped, clamped his mouth shut, and sat back down heavily. He stared at his gin, then drank it as though he were doing it a favor.
    I took the handkerchief from my pocket, unwrapped it, laid it on the table. The keys on the silver ring glinted between us.
    Tony's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get those?"
    "Downstairs," I said. "They're Jimmy's, aren't they?"
    Sirens wailed as cars screeched into the lot. I slipped the keys back in my pocket. Doors slammed and the curtains at the front window pulsed red and blue.
    "Tony," I said quietly, "I'm on your side."
    He got up to open the door for the law.
    Sheriff Garrett Brinkman, followed by a paunchy, sleepy-eyed deputy, stepped around Tony into the room. Their boots made hard sounds on the worn wood floor. Brinkman wore high black boots like a motorcycle cop, and kept them shiny enough to see your face in. He was a long-faced, long-legged man whose hair was thinning and hadn't been much of a color when he'd had it. His hands were big and his eyes were small. When he was young, he'd played right field for a Triple-A ball club. He still held the minor-league record for spiking second basemen.
    "Brinkman."Tony scowled. "What the hell are you doing here? I didn't call you, I called the troopers."
    "No, how about that?" Brinkman drawled amicably, his eyes shifting from Tony to me, back again. "My county, you find a dead guy, but you call the state and you don't call me" He smiled a small, nasty smile, and waited, eyes on Tony, for an explanation we all knew he didn't need and wasn't going to get. Then he shrugged. "But what the hell, Tony. We picked it up over the radio. So I thought we'd come give the pretty boys from the state a hand, in case they need to find their dicks or something." Brinkman turned to me, the nasty smile widening. "And how lucky can I get?" he said. "Look who's here."
    "Hello, Brinkman," I said. "Long time."
    "Not long enough, city boy." The smile pushed back the deep creases that ran from his nose to his chin. "I hope you're messed up in this."
    "Sorry." I smiled too. It was in the air. "I found him. That's all I know."
    "We'll see," said Brinkman. Then, "Show me."
    I pushed my chair back, got up from the table. I was about to throw bac k the last of my bourbon when Br inkman put his hand over my glass. "I like my witnesses sober."
    "Yeah," I said. "I guess alcohol could dull the pain." I stopped smiling.
    "Don't push me, city boy," Brinkman said softly.
    I walked around him, opened the cellar door. Brinkman and the deputy clattered down the wooden stairs. Tony and I followed.
    I'd left the light on. Sharp black shadows lay heavily beyond the circle of it. "Where?" Brinkman asked.
    "In the back." I showed him how to go.
    We picked our way among things once wanted, now useless and decaying. The four of us collected in a semic ircle at the back wall. The littl e bony guy stared at us out of sightless eyes, his arm still over the dusty bottles , his mouth still open.
    "Well," said Brinkman. "This just gets better, doesn't it?" The smile twitched again at a corner of his mouth. "Know him?"
    Tony took that one. "Met him once," he said tightly. "Don't know his name."
    "Oh?" said Brinkman. "Well, his name's Wally Gould. Works for Frank Grice. What I hear, he does anything so dirty even Grice won't touch it. What's he doing here, Tony?"
    "How the hell