Two Graves by Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child

Author:Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child [Preston, Douglas & Child, Lincoln]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thrillers, Fiction
ISBN: 9780446554992
Google: MqCh8fLRUcQC
Amazon: B007ZGBZHE
Barnesnoble: B007ZGBZHE
Goodreads: 15789059
Publisher: Hachette Digital, Inc.
Published: 2012-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

39

IT WAS A COLD, GRAY, DRIZZLY MONDAY MORNING, THE cars lined up on the lot like blocks of wood, dull in the dull light, streaming rivulets of water down their flanks. It was just past eleven but already it was shaping up to be a terrible day for selling, which was just perfect as far as Corrie was concerned. She’d retreated with the other salespeople into the lounge, where they were all drinking bad coffee and shooting the breeze, waiting for customers to show up. There were four other salespeople in the lounge—all men. Joe Ricco and his son Joe Junior weren’t around, and the salesmen were in a relaxed mood.

Corrie had gotten to know them over the past two days, and they were all first-rate, top-drawer assholes. All except Charlie Foote—the man her father had mentioned. He was younger than the rest, a little shy, and for the most part he didn’t join in the asinine frat-house banter. He’d graduated college, unlike most of the others, and he was the best salesman of the group; something about his gentle voice and understated, self-deprecating manner seemed to work like a charm.

One of the older salesmen had the floor and was finishing up a tits-and-ass joke, which Corrie laughed hard at. She took a sip of her coffee, added another container of fake cream to try to drown out the burnt taste, and said, “Weird, isn’t it, that I replaced a salesman with the same last name.”

She directed her statement to the salesman who had made the joke. His name was Miller. He was a real comedian, and Corrie had been forcing herself to laugh at all his lame jokes. She had even passed on a hot customer to him, pretending to need guidance, and then let him keep the sale. In return, Miller had sort of taken her under his wing, no doubt hoping to get lucky. He was already starting to make comments about a bar he went to after work that served killer margaritas. She wouldn’t disabuse him of the pathetic notion she might sleep with him—at least, not until she had a chance to cash in her chips.

“Yeah,” said Miller, lighting up even though he was only supposed to do that outside. But Joe Ricco smoked and so no one objected. Miller was a beefy, crew-cut redhead with triple rolls around his neck, a beer belly, wide lips, and a pug nose. The look was somewhat mitigated by his expensive suit. They all dressed well. Gone were the days, she thought, of the fast-talking salesman in plaid polyester.

“What was he like?” Corrie asked. “Jack Swanson, I mean.”

Miller exhaled. “Asshole.”

“Oh, yeah? So that’s why he was fired?”

Miller guffawed. “Nah. The guy robbed a bank.”

“What?” Corrie feigned shock.

“Miller, take it easy, we’re not supposed to talk about that at work,” said another salesman, a guy by the name of Rivera.

“Fuck it,” said Miller. “There’s no customers around. She’d hear about it eventually.”

“Robbed a bank!” Corrie interjected, eager to keep the thread of conversation going.

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