Dig Two Graves by James Harper (important books to read .txt) 📗

stepped out to the side, hit him behind the ear with his partner’s lead-filled sap. The guy sagged at the knees, hand stretched out in front of him grabbing at empty air. Evan hit him again, harder, put him on the ground like a brick wall had fallen on him.

Then he got the hell out.

He couldn’t have been more confused if the roles had been reversed and he was the one who’d been hit on the head a couple times. Was a single word of what the man masquerading as O’Brien had said true? If so, did it corroborate or contradict what Blair and Leon had told him?

One thing he knew for sure. He couldn’t go back to the Jerusalem and wait there on the off chance that Bella got in touch. He wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do instead.

7

Aldrich LeClair sounded like he was answering the third obscene phone call in under an hour.

‘Mr Buckley. Calling with good news for Mr Carlson already? I knew we made the right choice hiring you.’

Evan bit back the reply LeClair deserved, asked to speak to Leon instead. He got the response he knew he would.

‘If you tell me what it’s about, I can ask him for you.’

‘I’d rather speak to him directly.’

‘I’m sure you would.’

The silence stretched out between them. He tried not to think about the supercilious smirk on the other end of the line. He cleared his throat a couple times, put a sheepish note into his voice.

‘I’ve lost my wallet. It must have fallen out of my pocket in the car.’

There was a small, theatrical pause, then LeClair’s mocking voice.

‘You can’t find your wallet?’

Those were the words he said. The incredulous and derisive tone ensured Evan heard a fuller version.

We’ve hired you to find Mr Carlson’s daughter and you can’t even find your own wallet.

‘Just ask him, will you? And get him to call me back, unless you want to deal with that yourself, too. I’m sure you must have more important things to do.’

He ended the call, hoped LeClair did have other things to do like work his tongue further up old Mr Carlson’s ass, or that he was bored with the game he thought he’d already won.

He was in luck, although Leon’s voice was equally skeptical when he called back a half hour later.

‘You’ve lost your wallet?’

‘Of course I haven’t. I had to think of something. Unless you wanted me to ask LeClair to put me through to you because I think you’re secretly in contact with Arabella, feeding her information about her father’s health.’

It came out sharper than he’d have liked. That was Leon’s problem. None of it would’ve been necessary if he’d been straight with him. That didn’t stop the sullen silence from Leon’s end. He filled the void by telling him about the bogus cop’s attempt to get information out of him. He didn’t say anything about the things he’d said about Bella. But he stressed how it proved that whoever was behind it wasn’t going to give up.

‘So the best thing would be if you give me her number right now.’

He paused, gave Leon the opportunity to do so.

‘I can’t do that.’

He resisted the urge to shout down the line, even if he couldn’t keep all of the frustration out of his voice.

‘The word you’re looking for is won’t. At least change the message you give her. She can’t come to the Jerusalem Tavern now. They’ll be watching it. Tell her I’ll be in Henry’s Bar.’

He took a taxi there as soon as he got off the phone, not wanting to advertise his presence by parking his ‘69 Corvette outside. If they knew he frequented the Jerusalem, they knew what car he drove. Henry’s Bar was a depressing place. The sort of dive where men and women who wanted a drink at ten o’clock in the morning went to be amongst like-minded folk, where they didn’t feel the weight of people’s disapproval grinding them further into the hopelessness of the lives they would never escape. It was dark enough that you couldn’t see the dirt, not that any of its patrons would notice, their gazes never straying far from the bottoms of their glasses as they sat nursing their drinks and grievances.

The bartender smelled like he didn’t get enough time to go home and wash between shifts, most likely because at the end of each one he simply switched which side of the bar he was on.

Evan told him he’d have coffee.

‘We don’t serve coffee. It’s a bar.’

‘Okay. I’ll have a Coke.’

The guy came back with a cheap cola and a dirty glass.

‘Got any ice?’

‘The machine’s broken.’

‘How about a slice of lemon?’

That was just for the fun of it.

He passed the time watching a game show on the TV above the bar. It was as disheartening as everything else in the place. Like all game shows, the idea was for people to make as big a fool of themselves as possible for the smallest prize money outlay. At one point he was sure he felt some wetness on the side of his neck, guessed it was his brains dribbling out of his ear.

He was on his third cola, most of his teeth having already dissolved, when the woman came in. Same sort of age as Bella, a similar self-assured look that the predatory stares from the men lining the bar couldn’t dent. She glanced around, recognized him immediately.

‘Are you Evan Buckley?’

‘Just about.’ He picked up his drink. ‘Much longer in here drinking this stuff and I don’t know who or what I’ll be.’

She smiled briefly, then a grimace rippled across her face as she glanced around the room. She dropped her voice.

‘It’s pretty grim. I’m Bella’s friend, Liz.’

The bartender was watching them, unsure whether to approach as if he suspected that the surreptitious glances and whispers implied a price was being negotiated for services to be provided in the alley outside.

Evan had no reason to believe Liz wasn’t who