Drop Shot by Harlan Coben

Author:Harlan Coben [Coben, Harlan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3, pdf
Tags: Crime Fiction, Hard-Boiled, Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 9780345542229
Amazon: 0440220459
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2013-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Myron shot baskets on the blacktop off the driveway. The long summer day was finally slipping into darkness, but the basket was illuminated with spotlights. He and his father had installed them when Myron was in the sixth grade. A variety of barbecue smells competed in the still air. Chicken from the Dempseys' house. Burgers from the Weinsteins'. Shish kebab at the Ruskins'.

Myron shot, rebounded, shot again. He got a little rhythm going, the ball back-spinning gently through the basket. Nothing but net. Sweat matted his gray T-shirt to his chest. Myron always did his best thinking out here, but right now his mind was a blank. There was nothing but the ball, the hoop, and the sweet arc after the release. It felt pure.

"Hey, Myron."

It was Timmy from next door. Timmy was ten.

"Bug off, kid. You're bothering me."

Timmy laughed and grabbed a rebound. It was an inside joke. Timmy's mother was convinced that her son was bothering Myron and that Myron should send Timmy home whenever he came over. Didn't stop Timmy. He and his friends always came over when Myron was shooting. Once in a while, when they needed an extra body, the kids would knock on the door and ask his mom if Myron could come out and play.

He and Timmy shot around for a while. They talked about stuff that was important to little boys. A few other kids came by. The Daleys' boy. The Cohens' girl. Others. Bikes were parked at the end of the driveway. They started playing a game. Myron was designated steady passer. No one kept score accurately. Everyone laughed a lot. A few fathers came by and joined in. Arnie Stollman. Fred Dempsey. It'd been a while since they'd done this. A bit too Rockwellian for some, but it felt very right to Myron.

It was nearly ten when mothers started to call out for their children. From their front stoops the mothers smiled brightly and waved at Myron. Myron waved back. The kids "aw, Mom" 'd, but they listened.

Summer and school break. Still a touch of innocence. Kids were supposed to be different now. They had to deal with guns and drugs and crime and AIDS. But a summer night in middle-class suburbia was the great generational equalizer, a place far away from people like Aaron and the Ache brothers. A place far away from young women being murdered.

Valerie would have had fun tonight.

Mom opened the back door. "Telephone," she said shortly.

"Who is it?"

Her voice was like a closed fist. "Jessica." She made a face when she said it, like the name tasted bad on her lips.

Myron tried not to sprint. He walk/ran up the back steps and into the kitchen. The kitchen had been completely redone last year. Why, Myron couldn't say. No one in the house cooked, unless you count microwaving Celeste frozen pizzas.

"I'll take it in the basement," he said.

A grunt from Mom. No wisecrack. Like Esperanza, Mom too held grudges. Especially when it came to her little boy.

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