The Wrath of Angels by John Connolly

Author:John Connolly
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Hachette Littlehampton
Published: 2012-08-30T06:00:00+00:00

26

Davis Tate couldn’t get the smell of nicotine out of his mouth and nostrils. He felt as though he were coated in filth outside and in, even though by then the man in the corner was long gone from the bar. They hadn’t even seen him depart, and only the newspaper and the brandy – largely untouched – confirmed that he had ever been there at all. His presence had made Tate profoundly uneasy. He couldn’t have said why exactly, apart from that momentary pause in the tapping of the man’s fingers when Tate joked about his mortality, but he was certain that he and Becky had been the focus of the stranger’s attention. Tate had even gone so far as to corral their server while she was removing the empty brandy snifter from the booth and wiping the table clean with a cloth that stank of bleach. He could see Becky watching him, puzzled and unamused, but he didn’t care.

‘That guy,’ Tate said to the waitress, ‘the one who was sitting at this table: you ever see him in here before?’

The waitress shrugged. If she were any more bored, she’d have been horizontal.

‘I don’t remember,’ she said. ‘We’re midtown. Half the people who come in here I never see again.’

‘Did he pay cash or credit?’

‘What are you, a cop?’

‘No, I host a radio show.’

‘Yeah?’ She perked up. ‘What station?’

He told her. It didn’t register.

‘You play music?’

‘No, it’s talk radio.’

‘Oh, I don’t listen to that shit. Hector does.’

‘Who’s Hector?’

‘The bartender.’

Instinctively, Tate looked over his shoulder to where Hector was updating the food specials on the chalkboard. Even in the midst of his labors, Hector found time to wink at Tate again. Tate shuddered.

‘Does he know who I am?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the waitress. ‘Who are you?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s get back to the question. The guy who was sitting here: cash or credit?’

‘I get you,’ said the waitress. ‘If he paid credit, you could ask to see the slip. Then you’d know his name, right?’

‘Right. You should be a detective.’

‘No, I don’t like cops, especially not the kind that come in here. You sure you’re not a cop?’

‘I look like a cop?’

‘No. You don’t look like anything.’

Tate tried to gauge if he’d just been insulted, but gave up.

‘Cash,’ he said deliberately and, he hoped, for the final time, ‘or credit?’

The waitress wrinkled her nose, tapped her pen against her chin, and did the worst impression Tate had ever seen of somebody pretending not to remember. He wanted to shove her pencil through her cheek. Instead he took ten bucks from his pocket and watched it disappear into the waitress’s apron.

‘Cash,’ she said.

‘Ten bucks for that? You could have just told me.’

‘You gambled. You lost.’

‘Thanks for nothing.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said the waitress. She picked up her tray, with the brandy snifter and the stranger’s copy of the Post on top of it. As she tried to pass him, he took her arm.

‘Hey!’ she said.

‘Just one more question,’ said Tate. ‘Hector, the bartender?’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s gay, right?’

The waitress shook her head.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.