Trust by Higgins George V

Author:Higgins, George V. [Higgins, George V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime, Mystery
ISBN: 9780345804648
Amazon: 0345804643
Goodreads: 15998210
Publisher: Vintage Crime/Black Lizard
Published: 1989-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

When Fritchie returned from lunch at quarter of three, he resisted Earl’s suggestion that he sleep it off in the storeroom. He mumbled something about “new fuckin’ junker out in front. Waldo’ll have your ass for that one.” He took off his jacket and sat down at his desk and gazed into space, moistening his lips from time to time. Then he rested his forearms on the desk and gazed. Finally he folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them. Earl let him snore softly for ten minutes. Then he got up and gently pulled Fritchie’s chair away from his desk, easing Fritchie’s arms and head up and back so that his head lolled gaping-mouthed to the right and his hands lay on his crotch. Earl wheeled him slowly and quietly through the office and into the back room where the tools and ramps were kept, pushed him into the darkness, and shut the door. He returned to his own desk.

The phone rang just as Charlene Gaffney and her mother appeared at the front door. He picked up the handset and said: “Centre Street Motors. Hold a minute, please?” He put the line on Hold. He went to the door and ushered the two women in. “On the phone,” he said, pointing to his desk. “Come in, sit down. Just be a minute.” He went back to the phone. “Centre Street,” he said, “thank you for waiting.” Then he said: “Hey, sorry, boss. Had some customers come in, same time as your call. You told me the rules, old buddy. Customers got to come first. No, it’s been pretty quiet. Roy took the late lunch. Isn’t back yet. So I’m here all by myself. Yeah, uh huh. Yup, one. The Falcon. Guy wanted it, his beach place. No, didn’t give me any trouble. Nice clean sale, for just what we wanted. I don’t think you need to, really. Roy should be back in an hour. This is his late night. Okay, so I’ll see you on Monday. Yes, I do, boss, don’t kid me—I have got tomorrow off.” He hung up the handset.

“Mrs. Arnold, Charlene,” he said, “why don’t you two all come with me and sit down. Tell me what I can do, help you out.” He got up and ushered them into Waldo’s private office. They took chairs facing him at the desk.

Charlene wet her lips and looked at her mother. Mrs. Arnold in her black coat sat without expression, her black bag clenched in her hands. Charlene looked pleadingly at Earl. “Mister Beale,” she said, “I hope maybe you can help us. Me. We, after we went home, I started calling people? The restaurants, like you said? And they do have some jobs. But I got no experience, so I get starting pay. And, it isn’t very much. After what Ma tells me.”

Mrs. Arnold shook her head once. “I tried to tell her that,” she said. “God knows how many times. I guess this is better, though.

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