The Bum's Rush by G. M. Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

greedy relatives, annoyed creditors, and
one incredibly determined ex-wife had squandered bales of cash, only to
be left on the outside looking in.
    "I hear you had a busy night, Leo."
    "Too busy for old farts."
    "I'll say. Hisself came staggering in about a half
hour ago with steamer trunks under his eyes and your name fresh on his
lips. I was just going to call you."
    "Really?" I checked the clock over the sink. Twelve-fifteen.
    "He wants to talk to you."
    "What about?"
    "I've got no idea. He insists on discussing it with you personally."
    "Must be a doozie."
    "Hang on. I'll put you through."
    I sat through a'lovely orchestral rendition of "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" before Jed hit the line.
    "Leo. I need you."
    "Oh, Jed. I've waited years to hear you say that."
    "I've got a job for you."
    "Okay," I said.
    "Strictly confidential."
    "Aren't they all?"
    "No. I'm serious. This isn't something I could use
one of the other agencies for. Even if I hadn't saved your miserable
ass last night, you'd have been hearing from me this morning."
    "Hold the guilt. I'm yours. What's the deal?"
    "I need you to get down to the city library and see
" I could hear papers shuffling. "Lynn Former. The deputy director and
chief operating officer of the library system."
    "What for?"
    "We've got a problem."
    "We who?"
    "Me, the city, your uncle Pat, the universe. Pat's on the library board, you know."
    "Pat's on every board."
    "I gather you two aren't close."
    "You gather correctly."
    Actually, my father's youngest brother, Patrick William Waterman,
and I had been out of touch since the early seventies, when during a
family Easter dinner at my parents' house, he'd caught me getting his
youngest daughter Nancyjean stoned in the potting shed. We'd have been
okay if the sight of his purple face hadn't given both of us an
incurable case of the giggles and if I hadn't been wearing her drawers
on my head at the time.
    "What's the problem?"
    "One of the librarians is missing."
    "A lost librarian? Oh dear me, whatever shall we do?"
    "It's not funny, Leo. She's not all that's missing."
    I wasn't in the mood to guess.
    "Some money."
    "Purloined overdue charges. What's the world coming to?" "Just a bit under two hundred thou."
    "No shit."
    "No shit."
    "How is it that a librarian makes off with two hundred grand?"
    "It's a long story. Former will fill you in."
    "Why the hush-hush routine?"
    "Use your imagination, Leo. The Commons, man. I
know you're not in favor of the project, but the voting public doesn't
need this crap. They're surly enough as it is. We're already into their
pockets for the new Mariners stadium and the Kingdome renovations. I
don't know whether you've been reading the papers, but we're less than
two weeks from another vote on the Commons project. It's gonna be close
again. Something like this could tilt the balance. The city can't take
this kind of foolishness right now. The press will have a field day
with it."
    He had a point The plan to replace the blue-collar commercial
squalor at the south end of Lake Union with an urban-renewed yuppie
paradise had been contentious from the beginning, pitting the forces of
tradition against the omnipresent army of drooling developers and
provoking political dissension among those who usually agreed. The
measure had narrowly gone down to defeat at the last general election.
Jed, forsaking his usually egalitarian stance, was a major supporter.
Being rather fond of squalor, I'd voted against it, knowing full well
that the forces in favor would surely keep sticking it on the ballot
until it passed. While it was certainly true that one couldn't fight
city hall, one did what one could.
    "Former is expecting you at two. And Leo "
    "What?"
    "No paperwork. Just report to me, okay?"
    "You're starting to sound like my old man, Jed."
    "Scary, isn't it?"
    "Fiat rate. A percentage? What?"
    "Regular daily rate after we're even. You owe me
six hours at my rate. Which is" I could hear the wheels turning "a
couple