Atmosphere by Michael Laimo

Author:Michael Laimo [Laimo, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Horror
ISBN: 9780843950410
Google: W3DmQ8HKtooC
Amazon: B005UI8374
Barnesnoble: B005UI8374
Goodreads: 363073
Publisher: Leisure Books
Published: 2002-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The city's night-dwellers had taken flight: theater and concert-goers freshly dressed for the occasion; dour-faced happy-hour attendees still donned in the day's work attire, stumbling from their watering holes of choice; denim and leather-clad youths, grouped together with no direction in mind other than to aimlessly venture from street to avenue.

The traffic had thinned out some since Frank and Hector battled the rush-hour intercourse of the city nearly three hours ago. During their return Hector shrewdly utilized the beacons to escape red lights at 104th Street and 91st Street, making the going all the more faster and, of course, turning the heads of a few curious pedestrians who silently accused them of abusing their status. The return trip took about ten minutes, the time spent in unspoken silence until Frank pointed out a coffee cart on the corner of 78th and Madison.

Frank's thoughts during the short journey had been intense and to the point, like the unnerving memories of a man barely escaping the path of a speeding car: fraught with troubling questions and worry. His three personalities tried to sum up the day's venturesome encounters in an attempt to evaluate any possible relationship between them. From the incident in the alley and Bobby Lindsay making bail, to the discovery of Gross (and the other baldies) in the police file. The interview with the Racines and the eventual capture of Harold Gross. So much information and detail, filling his mind to a point nearing saturation. Yet still, frustratingly, no imminent answers sprang forth. Quickly scanning the years, Frank had difficulty recalling a similar experience, one where he had come across so many eventualities in just one day—and was still not able to make any sense of them all.

And to think he still squeezed in six hours sleep.

Frank returned to the cruiser with two coffees and a bag of cinnamon buns. They drove west up 78th and pulled into a Kinney System parking garage where the disgruntled attendant let them borrow a spot—the grimace on his face attested to the fact that he'd performed this service many more times in the past than he ever cared to. The city's parking garages were a common pit stop, providing a quiet place for the police to wind down, and here gave Frank and Hector a few moments to discuss the situation at hand.

"Oh, that feels good," Frank said, sipping his coffee. He closed his eyes and let the warmth spread through his stomach. "I need this bad."

"Not bad for a coffee cart." Hector's eyes had a lot of sleep in them, dark and droopy.

Frank uncurled the bag and dug out a cinnamon bun. "You know I'm never gonna be able to sleep tonight," he said, taking a bite. "Between obsessing about everything that's happened, and then trying to figure it all out, it's really got my mind racing."

"Let the sand settle a bit. You've been bombarded. We both have." He bit into the bun Frank gave him, washed it down with coffee.

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