The Last King of Texas - Rick Riordan by Rick Riordan

Author:Rick Riordan [Riordan, Rick]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-04-20T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-SIX

At nine-thirty, I drove to Erainya's house to pick her up for our rendezvous at George's.

Jem came along, too, but this time inexplicably fell asleep in the backseat as soon as we hit the highway.

We drove toward the South Side on the upper deck of I-10, the VW top down, the wind skin-temperature, the lights of downtown receding behind us. Down below, dark little houses sped by, tiny fenced yards, miles and miles of laundry lines, tableaus of beer drinking on back porches, cars with headlights on and hoods up, shreds of heavy metal music.

I filled Erainya in on my day.

She stared straight ahead, her index finger stroking her lip. "Kelly came down today."

"How're things in Austin?"

"She says fine. She's dyed her hair kind of yellow this time. Looks good."

"Ah, the rites of spring."

"She worked the county courthouse most of the morning — got a little bored sitting around the office with both you and George gone."

"She find anything?"

"Turns out Aaron Brandon filed a civil suit against Del about three years ago for control of RideWorks. Aaron claimed Del had swindled him out of his share."

"And?"

"And it never went to court. Aaron dropped the suit a couple of months after he filed."

"Out-of-court settlement?"

Erainya shrugged. "I guess. The question is, what kind?"

I fixed my eyes on the road and thought about the red-and-gold cigar seal I'd found in Sandra Mara's bedroom closet. If George had something to tell us, something that would sew up the holes, I swore to God I'd buy him the world's largest Cuban cigar.

We exited on Roosevelt and turned south. The Tower of the Americas swung behind us like a compass needle. On either side of Roosevelt were closed-up car dealerships, their sale banners flapping apathetically. The side streets were dark and deadly quiet.

I must've been driving on autopilot, because the next thing I remember is Erainya shoving me and saying, "Heads."

We'd turned onto the broken asphalt of Palo Blanco. Up ahead, George's well-kept little house was dark. Its porch light was off. Even the carport light George used to showcase his 1970 Barracuda was off.

Next to the curb, a white van idled. Dark shapes of men moved across the gravel lawn.

My insides froze.

We were at the end of the block, still too far away to make out anything more, when the dark shapes melted into the van and its brake lights flared. Doors slammed. The van accelerated away from us.

I stopped in the middle of the street. There was no need for Erainya or me to speak. She got out, trundled Jem from the backseat, and carried him still sleeping to the sidewalk, already fishing for the gun in her purse. I punched the gas. The white van took a hard left on Mission Road and careened out of sight. I tried to match its speed on the turn and found myself skidding sideways, nearly slamming into the gates of the old Catholic orphanage across the street before second gear took hold and fishtailed me forward again.

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.