The Last Town (Book 3): Waiting For The Dead by Stephen Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

the other man could speak. “He’s one of the good guys, Walt. Now go join the rest of the boys and have some breakfast. You’re attracting some attention standing over me like some mother hen.”
    The leader of Corbett’s security detail sighed heavily, not liking that he was being pushed offstage. But he took a quick look around the diner, and saw several pairs of eyes were focused on him and Corbett. He sighed again, and started toward the bar as Victor stepped inside the diner and headed directly for Corbett.
    “Hello again,” Victor said to Lennon, favoring him with a regal nod.
    “Good morning, Mr. Kuruk,” Lennon responded as he stepped aside. “You’re here to see Mr. Corbett?”
    “I guess I am. Is that allowed?”
    “Don’t pay him any mind, Vic. Have a seat,” Corbett said. He looked up at Lennon. “You. Scat.”
    Lennon disappeared, and Victor slid in across from Corbett. “Well, he seems to be the protective sort,” the distinguished-looking Native American said. “So what’s good here? I haven’t been to this place in years.”
    “What did you have then?”
    “Uh, pancakes, maybe. The silver dollar stack. That was back when I was doing some work on that western series on Fox. I had to watch my weight, because the network execs told the show runner they didn’t want to have to change the name of my character to Chief Fatso.”
    “Victor—that was like twelve years ago.”
    “It’s been that long? Huh. Time flies,” Victor said. He reached for another menu and opened it, then reached inside his leather jacket for his reading glasses. Corbett watched as he peered at the selections, one perfectly manicured eyebrow cocked slightly as he adopted an expression of deep concentration.
    “Do you read the white man’s words?” he asked.
    Victor looked at Corbett over the rim of his reading glasses. “I can even understand your forked tongue.”
    Danielle appeared then, looking harried as she stepped up to the table. She seemed a bit surprised to see Victor, and she looked from him to Corbett.
    “Dani, you know Victor Kuruk, don’t you?” Corbett said.
    “Well, yes, but mostly from TV. Hi, Mr. Kuruk,” Danielle said, running a hand through her short, dark hair.
    “Well hello, Miss Kennedy,” Victor said, pressing the charm button while simultaneously maintaining the role of wise, inscrutable Indian Chief. “Of course, I’ve known your father for years, but I’ve never really had the opportunity to speak with you since you were”—Victor held a hand out to his side so his palm was just a little over three feet above the floor—“about this high. I remember your father was annoyed with you, because your mother had just bought you a pretty pink dress, and you’d gotten it filthy playing with some of the other kids.”
    Danielle blinked, suddenly recalling the moment. “Oh, wow. You remember that?”
    Victor tapped the side of his head. “Unlike Mr. Corbett here, my mind is still very much a steel trap.”
    “Too bad it’s usually disconnected from your mouth,” Corbett said. “Dani, is Raoul on the grill?”
    “He is.”
    “Then I’ll have the Mexican scrambled eggs with extra jalapeño. Go a little light on the cilantro, and bring some chipotle salsa. And a cup of the boldest coffee you have. Vic, you drink coffee?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Make that two. My inscrutable friend here will have the cinnamon French toast with a generous side of bacon, and toss a sprig of parsley on it so he can still claim he had an ‘all natural’ breakfast.”
    Victor frowned. “Cinnamon French toast?”
    “This time next year, you’ll look back on this moment fondly, Victor.”
    Victor shrugged. “I see your point. Have those lathered up with an extra helping of unsalted butter, would you, Miss Kennedy? I might as well sacrifice my arteries now.”
    Danielle nodded as she wrote their orders on a pad. “Sure. Half stick, or whole stick?”
    Victor’s hiked his eyebrow even higher.