The Butcher's Boy by Thomas Perry Read Free Book Online Page A

police looked for a man who'd been in a fight. So it had to be tonight. There was no other way. He had to be somewhere else before they knew what they were looking for. And then his mind stopped dead. There was still the Senator. How could he do the Senator and get out of Denver in one night with a face like that? He thought again about the two men in the alley. If only they hadn't picked him out, or picked that alley, or had thought of it another night. But there wasn't much he could do about it now. He started again from the beginning. How can I travel with a face like this?

    McKinley Claremont sipped the last of his bourbon and watched the film of the Arab gun crew expertly loading and firing at a distant hillside. He wondered if it was stock footage, or if they were really getting that organized. In '67 he'd been to Egypt on a fact-finding tour and it hadn't been like that. After a couple of rounds, the ammunition they had with them had turned out to be the wrong size, so the crew he was with just sat down and started eating and drinking. Two hours later a captain told him they were waiting for the supply lines to get untangled, or for further orders, whichever happened first. Meanwhile they sat in the sun behind their useless cannon, waiting.

25
    Carlson interrupted his thoughts. "I'd say it came off very well, wouldn't you, Senator?"

    "All right, I guess," said the Senator. "On television they don't get the chance to spell your name wrong, anyway."

    "Big day tomorrow," said Carlson tactfully.

    "Right," said the old man. He set down his glass and raised himself slowly from his chair. "Call me at eight and while we're having breakfast we'll try to figure out what's got to be done. That is, if we've got time for breakfast?"

    "Yes sir," said Carlson. "First appointment isn't until ten."

    "Fine, see you in the morning then."

    "Good night, Senator," said Carlson, already halfway out the door. "My room is right next door if you need anything. Four oh eight." The door shut.

    Claremont shuffled over to the closet and brought out his pajamas. He tossed them on the bed and then took off his suit, carefully hanging it up so it wouldn't get wrinkled. If he didn't hate the idea of losing his privacy, he'd get a valet, he thought. Living out of a suitcase half of each year was bad enough.
    Then you had to decide whether to spend your time worrying about wrinkles or give up the few minutes of solitude you ever had.

    He eased himself into the strange bed and tried out a couple of positions for comfort. Politics wasn't so bad for the young fellows, he thought. Trouble was, by the time you knew anything and had enough seniority to make anybody listen to it, you were too old. He peered through the darkness at his teeth soaking in the glass on the nightstand. Those things were older than some of the men in the House of Representatives. He chuckled to himself. Still plenty of bite to them, though.

    He felt the water around him loosening the taut muscles and soaking some of the hurt out of him. He began to feel stronger. Now and then he would take a deep breath and lean back with his chin tucked into his chest to submerge his whole head. Then he would wait until his breath came back and do it again for as long as he could. Finally he sat up, took the soap between his hands, worked it into a lather, then rubbed soap over his head and face. It was as though dozens of hornets were stinging his scalp, his cheek, his temple. He gasped to fill his lungs again and ducked under. Slowly the pain went away.

    He waited a few seconds, then climbed out of the tub and began toweling himself off, gingerly. When he came to his knee he dried around it. No telling what germs there were on a hotel towel, and no sense leaving blood stains. He looked in the mirror again. This time the face didn't seem quite so bad, with the hair combed and no clot of blood on it. It was the cheek and the eye that'd give trouble, but with the right pair of sun glasses,