The Bookman's Wake by John Dunning Read Free Book Online Page B

need became great. At
     the front table the Seahawks flap was still raging, a
     real-life commercial for Miller Lite. Across the way, Mr.
     America said something and gestured to her drink. She shook
     her head and tried to go on with her life, but he remained
     doggedly in her face. She swished her ice and sipped the
     watery remains while her hero worked his way through the
     first twelve chapters of his life story. He was one of
     those loud farts, the kind you can’t insult: he
     probably couldn’t be killed, except with a silver
     bullet. He was halfway to his first million and nobody to
     share it with. I couldn’t imagine any interesting
     woman falling for that line, but interesting probably
     wasn’t what he was after. The guy was a moron, either
     that or I was. I didn’t have time to dwell on it
     because just then Eleanor Rigby got up and left him flat,
     halfway between the big deal he had just pulled off and all
     the bigger ones coming down the pike.
    I liked her for that. In a way it was a shame I was
     going to have to bust her. I left two bills on the bar and
     followed her down the hall to the Johns. She disappeared
     into the ladies‘. I checked to make sure there was no
     other way out, then I drifted back into the bar and took up
     a position where I couldn’t miss her. I was standing
     near the only window, which looked out into the street.
     Heavy black drapes were closed over it, but I parted them
     slightly so I could see out. I was staring at her car, my
     hand suspended between the curtains. Someone was sitting
     behind the wheel. I saw a light, very faint: he was looking
     for something, rummaging through the glove compartment. He
     put on his hat and got out in the rain. Pruitt. He stood
     for a moment, oblivious to the rain that had bothered him
     so much before. He gave her door a vicious kick, leaving a
     dent six inches across. I saw the snap of a blade, a wicked
     stiletto, and he bent over and poked a hole in her tire.
     Then he walked away and I watched the car go flat.
    Just then she came out of the hallway. She walked past,
     so close I could’ve touched her. I let her go,
     following her out through the narrow foyer. By the time I
     got to the door she had run to her car. I stood watching
     her through the tiny pane of glass. Yes, she had seen the
     flat tire: she was sitting in her car doing nothing. I
     could imagine her disgust. Time for Loch-invar to appear,
     as if by magic: a knight with a bouquet in one hand and a
     set of shackles in the other. Bust her now, I thought,
     walking out into the rain: bust her, Janeway, don’t
     be an idiot. But there was Poe, grim and pasty-faced,
     lurking in the dark places under the viaduct.
    I stopped at the curb and pointed to her tire. She
     cracked the window ever so slightly.
    “You got a flat.”
    “No kidding.”
    “Hey,” I said in my kindest, gentlest voice.
     “I can’t get any wetter than this. Gimme your
     keys, I’ll get out your jack and change it for
     you.”

5
----
    S he sat in the car while I changed her tire. I jiggled her
     up, took off her lugs, and hummed a few bars of
     “Singin‘ in the Rain.” Her spare tire was
     like the others: it had been badly used in at least three
     wars, the alleged tread frequently disappearing into snarls
     of frayed steel. I hauled it out of the trunk and put it
     gently on the curb. The street was as deserted as a scene
     from some midfifties end-of-the-world flick, but it fooled
     me not. Pruitt, I thought, was still out there somewhere, I
     just couldn’t see him. If this were
Singiri in the Rain
, he’d come on down and we’d do a little
     soft-shoe routine. I’d be Gene Kelly and we’d
     get Eleanor Rigby out of the car to play Debbie Reynolds.
     Pruitt would be Donald O’Connor, tap-dancing his way
     up the side of the viaduct and out onto the highway, where
     he’d get flattened by a semi. Suddenly I knew, and I
     didn’t know how, that there was a joker in