Rook by Stephen G. Eoannou

Author:Stephen G. Eoannou
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Stephen G. Eoannou, Rook, Unsolicited Press, Al Nussbaum, Crime
Publisher: Unsolicited Press
Published: 2022-04-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Lolly stood behind the bookstore’s counter, the Reader’s Digest shaking in her hands. Words swam and blurred as she struggled to read the article. Six thousand federal agents were looking for her husband, but she didn’t trust her eyes and re-read the sentence. Six thousand? My God. What chance did Al have of surviving this manhunt?

The word echoed in her skull.

Manhunt—to hunt a man. She knew every successful hunt ends in a kill.

Her focus faded until the sentences became unreadable. She flipped to page forty-four, to Al’s mugshot, her fingertip trailing over his lean face, a face she missed so much it hurt to look at the photograph. Why was Jacqueline Rose’s photo next to Al’s? The article had identified her as Bobby’s girlfriend. Shouldn’t she be next to his picture and not her husband’s? She was pretty, Lolly admitted, in a peroxide way. Did Al like that? Was she with him on all those nights he travelled away from home? She was Bobby’s girlfriend, wasn’t she?

The bell above the door jingled and Lolly tossed the magazine under the counter as if she had been caught reading something obscene. Agents Alexander and Brause entered.

“I’m at work.”

“We need to talk,” Alexander said, his skin waxier than she remembered with dark circles under his eyes. She wondered when he had last slept. Days ago? Weeks ago? Maybe the last good sleep he had was the night before the Brooklyn robbery.

“I’m at work,” she repeated, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“We could always bring you down to headquarters, Mrs. Nussbaum,” Brause said, daubing his red face with a white handkerchief. He had sweated the starch from his shirt, and it clung to him in wrinkles.

Maeve peeked out of the office. “It’s okay, Lolly. It’s slow today. No one is out in this heat. Take as long as you need.”

“Let’s walk then,” Lolly said, her blue eyes taking in Brause’s discomfort.

Alexander held the door for her, the bell tinkling overhead, the sun almost blinding her as it reflected off parked cars and sidewalks. She strode quickly, her sandals slapping the pace; she heard Brause next to her, already breathing hard.

“So, what’s so important that you have to bother me at work?” Lolly asked. “What haven’t you asked me?”

“Was your husband political, Mrs. Nussbaum?” Alexander asked, slipping on sunglasses.

“Al? My God, no. He hated politicians. He thought they were all idiots. He didn’t think much of the police, either.”

“What were his views on Cuba?” Brause asked, a slight hop in his step. Lolly wondered if he could feel the heat rising from the cement through his leather soles. She walked faster.

“He had none, as far as I know. He doesn’t drink rum or smoke cigars. He likes Hemingway, though. Didn’t he live in Cuba?”

“I suggest you take this seriously, Mrs. Nussbaum,” Brause said. “Or you can answer our questions downtown.”

She sped up and heard Brause wheeze. They crossed the street in front of a carload of teenagers waiting for the light to change.

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