Tres Navarre 02 - The Widower's Two-Step by Rick Riordan

Author:Rick Riordan [Riordan, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

and said, "Let's go, darlin'."

Back in the Audi we drove with the windows down. The

wind was almost cool now, whipping around the front seats

and sending the medicine pouch beads on the rearview

mirror into a little jel yfish dance. Al ison had taken off the

sunglasses and her eyes seemed softer and darker than

they had been before.

I was starting to turn some things around in my head, ideas

about the addresses we'd found and the money and the

trail Les SaintPierre had left.

"You know much about the record industry?" I asked.

Al ison held her hands far apart, like she was bragging

about a fish. "Two years with Les SaintPierre, cowboy.

What you wanna know?"

"CDs."

"What about them?"

"If you were importing them from overseas in large

quantities, how would they be packed? Boxes? Crates?"

"Uhunh. Spools."

"Cylinders."

"Yeah. Big ones. The jewel cases and covers are only

added in the destination country, with local suppliers. It's

cheaper that way. Why?"

"So much for keeping the business modest."

"What?"

I waited a half mile before responding. "We should talk

about the money."

"What's to talk about? Les was stupid enough to forget it

when he ran, it reverts to me.

You want a finder's fee, sweetie?"

"Les probably embezzled that money from the agency."

Al ison stared at me. "So?"

"So it isn't yours. I'l store it for a while, until I know what's what. Then, most likely, it'l go to the debtor's court."

"You're kidding."

I didn't respond. We had come al the way back to Loop

410 to hit Sheppler's and were now heading north again,

ostensibly to go to the Paintbrush. I missed the Leon Val ey

exit and kept driving, circling the city.

"You're going to do Milo Chavez a fiftythousand dol ar

favour," Al ison decided.

"That's not what I said."

"That's what it amounts to—bailing his ass out of debt and

leaving me nothing. That's what you're thinking, isn't it? "

"I'm thinking you're overreacting again."

Al ison stomped her shiny new boot against the floorboard.

She crossed her arms and looked out into the hil s.

"Shithead."

We passed I10, kept going. I exited on West Avenue and

turned left, toward downtown.

"Maybe I should just take you back," I suggested. "Let you col ect your car."

"Maybe so."

We drove in silence. West Avenue. Hildebrand. Broadway.

Saturday night was unfolding al along the avenues—neon

bar signs and lowrider cars and slow cruising pickup

trucks. The air was laced with the smel of family

barbecues, pork ribs, and roasted peppers.

When we final y got back to Queen Anne Street I cut the

engine and the lights. We sat there, staring at Al ison's

crookedly parked Miata, until Al ison began to laugh.

She turned toward me. Her breath smel ed faintly of fortified

wine. "Al right. Don't get the wrong idea, sweetie."

"What wrong idea is that?"

She reached over and pushed a couple of buttons on my

new Western shirt. "That I didn't appreciate the day with

you. I got a little upset, that's al . I don't want you thinking—"

"The money is staying in storage, Al ison."

She blinked slowly, processing what I said, then decided to

laugh again. "You think that's al I'm interested in?"

"I don't know."

"Fuck you, then." She said it almost playful y. She leaned

toward me slowly, tugging my shirt, inviting me to meet her

halfway.

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.