Bearing Secrets (Wil Hardesty Book 2) by Richard Barre

Author:Richard Barre [Barre, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down and Out Books
Published: 2011-11-06T11:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Stopping for gas, Wil reached Sol Polluck from an open pay phone. As he spoke he held one ear against the rush of traffic.

"Where are you?" asked the lawyer. "The freeway?"

"Close. Any luck?"

"Could be. A name came up, somebody this other prof thought was tight with Pfeiffer. Hang on a second."

Wil opened his notebook. Behind him a horn blared, then Polluck was back on the line.

"Okay, the name is Shirmir. S-h-i-r-m-i-r, Henry--my guy remembered him and Max from Torts. Radical type, good student, in Max's shadow academically, but capable. Phil said he thought the two of them planned to open a practice."

Wil finished writing. "Anything else?"

"Shirmir bounced around Berkeley, then left, all disillusioned. Phil remembered him because he came around the other day, looking for work. He hired him."

"Phil say where he'd been?"

"No, just that he seemed gun-shy--not untypical of sixties burnouts. Guy's living at one-twenty-seven E, Peoples Way. Real Berkeley name for you. I think that's the flatlands, but you'd better check a map."

Wil flipped back a page the wind had advanced and wrote it down. "Did he say what he looked like?"

"Medium height, hair in a ponytail. Somewhat wounded looking."

"You ever consider this line of work?"

Polluck chuckled. "How goes it?"

"Inch by inch," Wil said, "the job in a nutshell. Thanks for the help."

Hanging up, he took stock: rush-hour traffic forming, five o'clock in another ten, a possibility that Shirmir might be home. From the gas station, he drove north through business districts and tired mini-malls, okay neighborhoods and those just hanging on. Pulling over to recheck the map, he noticed a stop sign. Below STOP, someone had stenciled in RACISM. A couple of blocks later, one said WAR; at the next corner, DOING THAT. Wil figured he had to be close and was, Peoples Way a seedy, comma-shaped appendage ending in a cul-de-sac, 127E the end unit in a grouping of older cottages. A garage sat next to it. Faded laundry hung limp on a next-door line, paper-doll clothes against the overcast. Somewhere, someone was frying something.

One-twenty-seven E's front door had a square of windows similar to the garage's: Wil knocked, peeked in at bare walls, brick hearth, unlit floor lamp, two armchairs, a bicycle. Light spilled from a door cracked open across the living room. He waited. The door was pulled wider and a man passed through, shut it behind him, then glanced out through the square of windows. He opened the front door.

Five-ten maybe; behind thick glasses, guarded eyes lurked in a face that had seen hard use. His graying hair was long and ponied in back. From there down it was gray sweatshirt, worn Levis, running shoes.

"Yeah?"

"Name's Hardesty. I'm looking for Henry Shirmir--Max Pfeiffer's friend."

"Any particular reason?"

Wil told him: Max, Holly, Tahoe, Santa Cruz. "Ask you a few questions?"

Curiosity and resignation in equal parts. "Yeah, I guess. Half expected somebody to show up, what with all the stuff about Max. Just making some java, if you want some."

"That'd be great. Thanks."

Wil leaned against the kitchen

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.