The Death of Lorenzo Jones by Brad Latham Read Free Book Online Page A

in the dark, and Hook felt at that moment as good as he’d ever felt in his entire life. A beautiful broad and a beautiful
     car, what more could a man want?
    Toots Shor, the owner of the restaurant, knew Hook well. He stood inside the entrance and greeted Hook warmly. “Hiya, bum.”
     Toots turned to Robin, “Actually, he’s the greatest guy I know.” He boxed Hook a fake punch to the jaw, and yelled to the
     maitre d’, “Best wine on the house for Hook tonight.”
    They were seated up front, the best part of the floor. The place was packed, and groups of well-dressed people chattered and
     laughed loudly around them. The feeling of great excitement in the air made Robin’s eyes shine brightly.
    Hook ordered hors d’oeuvres and they got a drink to get going while looking over the long menu.
    “You order,” Robin said to Lockwood, putting the huge list down with a sigh. “Cheers,” she toasted, but in a quavering, almost
     sad voice. She looked pale. Lockwood became perturbed.
    “What’s the matter, drink no good?”
    “No—Bill, it’s wonderful. I-I’ve been thinking about telling you something. Promise you won’t say anything about it. though.”
    Lockwood nodded and said, “Shoot.”
    “Mr. Wade—paws me. He says he’ll fire me if I don’t let him. I need the job but….”
    Lockwood stared at her, his eyes widening.
    Robin continued, “I’m so embarrassed. Everytime I complain to him, about his touching me, he tells me it’s my fault. He—he
     says I have a provocative walk, and wear tight clothing and—well, maybe it
is
my fault. My figure, it is a bit —full—and lots of men stare and—” She nearly broke down in tears.
    “What are you saying, Robin?” Lockwood asked, clasping her trembling hands. “You have a lovely figure. A lovely figure is
     no reason to be ashamed.”
    “B-but Mr. Wade, he says I provoke him. I arouse him. walking about the office….”
    “He paws you?” Lockwood was getting enraged.
    “I’m so—perhaps I shouldn’t tell—”
    He squeezed her cold hands. “Tell me!” he said firmly.
    She lifted her green eyes and looked into his.
    “When I’m passing him, he puts his hand here, and then on my—my uppers and squeezes.” She started crying.
    “That’s disgusting. I’ll pulverize the bas—”
    “That’s what I mean, Bill, I don’t want that. I don’t want—It happened once before, violence because of me, and I never want
     to see it happen again.”
    “What do you want me to do?” Lockwood asked. “Give him a medal? I’ve got friends on the police force. I could have someone
     call on him and persuade him that he’ll face charges unless he leaves you alone. I’d rather do it myself though, with my fist.”
     He showed her his heavy right knuckles, scarred from many a fight.
    “Whatever you do, Bill, and let’s stop talking about it. Please. No violence.”
    She took out a small white handkerchief, turned away, and blew her nose and dried her eyes.
    Lockwood dropped the subject and after a dinner of pâté de foie gras, lobster flambe and chocolate mousse, they said good
     bye to Maurice the maitre d’ and Toots. Lockwood put it on his tab and signed an ample tip. Robin was impressed.
    “Please,” she said. “Let’s spend no more money tonight. You must have struck oil, Bill. But don’t spend so much on me. I’m
     not worth it.”
    “You’re worth it, baby,” he said.
    He tipped Mario for bringing back the Cord in the same shape he had left it. Lockwood was ready for dancing at the Copa, conversing
     over a split of champagne, but Robin said he was crazy, laughed, and suggested a movie.
    “If that’s what you really want to do. I love movies.”
    “Then a movie it is.” Gone was her look of sadness. Back was the freshness of her smile and the sensual turn of her lower
     lip.
    Lockwood would have liked to have held her long into the night, dancing cheek to cheek. But some other time. He didn’t rush
     women, he