The Fugitive by John Grisham Read Free Book Online

trouble. He notices people looking at him, sees some strange faces, and, since he’s spooked anyway, he decides to lay low for a while, to change his movements, take a different train, walk down a different street, wear a different suit. There are two million people in Washington, and he knows how to lose himself in a crowd.”
    â€œI guess so.”
    â€œThey watched his apartment building all night, and he didn’t go home. That’s a good indication he knows something’s up. They’ll probably never find him now.”
    â€œToo bad.”
    â€œAnyway, there’s not much else we can do at this point.”
    â€œThanks, Ike.” Theo stuck his phone in his pocket and went to tell his parents.
    Wednesday night dinner meant take-out Chinese from the Dragon Lady, one of Theo’s favorite meals of the week. They ate on folding trays in the den and watched
Perry Mason
reruns, another of Theo’s favorites. Halfway through the first episode his mother said, “Theo, you’ve barely touched your food.”
    Theo quickly crammed in a load of sweet-and-sour shrimp and said, “No way. It’s delicious and I’m starving.”
    She gave him one of those motherly looks that said, “Sure, but I know the truth.”
    â€œAre you worried, Theo?” his father asked.
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know. Maybe the FBI and the fact that they can’t find Pete Duffy.”
    â€œHadn’t thought about it,” he said.
    His father smiled as he chewed and shot a knowing glance at Mrs. Boone. When their eyes returned to the television, Theo reached down and gave Judge half an egg roll, his favorite of all foods.
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    Early Thursday morning, Theo was having a quiet breakfast alone, with his daily bowl of Cheerios and glass of orange juice, with Judge at his feet having the same, minus the juice. His father had left early to have breakfast and gossip with his usual coffee gang downtown. His mother was in the den sipping a diet soda and reading the morning newspaper. Theo was thinking of nothing in particular, was in fact minding his own business and not looking for trouble or adventure, when the phone rang.
    His mother called out, “Please get that, Theo.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” he said as he stood and reached for the phone. “Hello.”
    A somewhat familiar voice said rather stiffly, “Yes, this is Agent Marcus Slade with the FBI. Could I speak to either Mr. or Mrs. Boone?”
    â€œUh, sure,” Theo said as his throat tightened. This is it, he thought in a flash, they’re coming after me! They’re mad because I’ve wasted so much of their time. He covered the phone and yelled, “Mom, it’s the FBI.”
    How many eighth graders at Strattenburg Middle School had to deal with the FBI, he asked himself? When his mother picked up the phone in the den, he was tempted to stay on the line and listen in, but quickly changed his mind. Why ask for more trouble? He hid in the doorway that led to the den, just out of sight, and could hear her voice but not her words. When she hung up, Theo scrambled back to his chair and stuck in a mouthful of Cheerios. Mrs. Boone walked into the kitchen, stared at him as if he’d shot someone, and said, “That was the FBI.”
    No kidding, Mom.
    â€œThey want to meet with us this morning at the office. They say it’s urgent.”
    On the one hand, Theo was thrilled to be missing school again, but on the other hand reality hit quickly: The FBI was ticked off and they wanted to chew him out face-to-face. He said, “What do they want?”
    â€œThe agent wouldn’t say. They’re driving over now and we’ll meet at nine o’clock.”
    â€œWe? As in me too?”
    â€œYes, you’re invited.”
    â€œGosh, Mom, I hate to miss school,” he said with a straight face. And truthfully, at that moment, he’d