The Hours of the Virgin by Loren D. Estleman Read Free Book Online Page B

riots. “Where’s the body?”
    â€œUnder this suit.”
    â€œWhat the hell happened to the suit?”
    â€œAll-night grindhouses and gas station toilets affect me the same way. I can’t resist rolling around on the floors.”
    â€œYou’re slipping, Walker. Where you are there’s usually a couple of hundred pounds of USDA Choice waiting for the wagon.”
    â€œI’m coming down with something. Well enough to be shot at, but too sick to shoot.” I coughed.
    â€œDo what I do, pump aspirins. Thinner blood kills germs.” He held out his hand.
    I squeaked out the .38 and gave it to him. He sniffed at the barrel, inspected the cylinder, and returned it. His nose kept working. “Somebody shot something.”
    I pointed toward the damaged sconce. “You’ll find the slug behind there. The reason it doesn’t have my brains on it is the reason my suit looks like this. How’d the cops get it?”
    â€œNine-one-one. A fight, she said.”
    â€œShe?” I saw eyes that didn’t match, a pair of triangle earrings.
    â€œShe said she sells tickets. Dispatch believed her. She couldn’t put together a coherent sentence without a building permit.”
    â€œOh. The girl in the booth. I’m surprised she took the time. She rabbited along with everyone else, including the projectionist.”
    â€œWho can blame them? The place has more priors than seats. The concession stand is a guy named Atticus in the parking lot. What’s the story?” He leaned back against the block wall with his hands in his coat pockets. He looked as casual as the Kremlin.
    I found an uncrushed Winston in the pack, lit up, and darkened my lungs another shade while I gave it to him from Chapter One. I edited out Earl North. That wasn’t city property.
    â€œYou stepped on that old rake?” he said when I got to the girl with the cigarette.
    â€œIf I were smart I’d be two-thirds of the way to a pension.”
    â€œNo wonder that bullet missed your brains.” He looked at the empty screen, as if the story were playing there. “What’s your take on this bird Boyette? You’ve only got his word for it that money’s his. It wouldn’t be the first time a courier took off with the pony.”
    â€œI thought about it. I don’t like it. I initiated contact. He didn’t search me out.”
    â€œGood con guys almost never do. Merlin Gilly would shill for the Prince of Lies.”
    â€œPick him up.”
    â€œAre you filing a missing-persons report on Boyette?”
    â€œMy specialty’s missing persons. I’d never live it down. Anyway, for all I know he’s sitting in his living room right now, unrolling a Dead Sea Scroll.”
    â€œHow about attempted murder on you? That’s got to be a misdemeanor.”
    I shook my head.
    â€œThen it’s your scooter,” he said. “All I’ve got is a shot fired inside city limits and maybe a property damage complaint, if anyone bothers to come down and swear one out. No one will. In a minute or so I won’t even have the shot fired. My specialty’s homicide.”
    He should have played the lottery. Exactly sixty seconds later a uniform came in, young, with the marks of the academy mold still on his shiny leather jacket and in the crease of his trousers. Alderdyce flashed his shield, then walked away with him a few yards, speaking low. The uniform nodded and went back out. The inspector stayed where he was with his hands in his pockets.
    â€œSomething?” I asked.
    â€œNot likely. I just remembered I’m in no hurry. My daughter’s using our living room for her divorced women’s meeting.”
    In a little while the uniform returned and read something out of his notebook. “That’s next door, isn’t it?” Alderdyce asked.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œStay here and wait for the manager.” The polished-ebony head