Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
I greet Hurley with a handshake.
“Everything is behind the counter,” he says.
I follow him. The protester reluctantly steps aside to let us invade his space. I get a heavy waft of skunk weed when I pass him, like it’s stuck to his clothing and he’s sweating THC.
I take a look.
Son of a bitch. My stereo equipment. Fucking son of a bitch. It’s sitting right here in front of me. Oh, I’m pissed, but it’s a sorta happy mad.
“Yeah, this is my shit.”
“Everything you put on your list is in there,” Hurley says. “No vinyl or CDs, though. I took a look around because, as you know, I don’t need a search warrant.” He stares directly at the storekeeper after saying that. “Didn’t see anything that matches the description of your other property.”
“I told you, Officer, he didn’t come in with any vinyl or CDs, just this stuff.”
“No laptop, either?” Hurley asks.
“No.”
Now I want to slap him silly.
As I turn to face Hurley and Stinky Boy, I notice the cover of The Best of Bread tacked to the wall above a cash register. Mounted beside it is the record, broken in half.
It’s like I’ve been violated again.
“You broke my Bread,” I tell the owner directly.
He seems baffled at first, then realizes.
He drops his head like he knows he just got fucked twice.
I look at it more closely.
“That’s mine. My mother made those little doodles on the cover’s corner.”
“So where is the rest of the vinyl and the CDs?” Hurley asks.
“Okay, I swear I only bought this one. For fifty cents.”
“Why would he only bring in one?”
“He said he had more and just wanted to know how much he could get before lugging it in here. It wasn’t enough to make it worth his while.”
“So why’d you have to go and mount it on the wall like that?” I ask.
“Dude, I—I just don’t like Bread,” he says with a shrug.
“Dude?” I return. “Fuck, you ain’t got no heart.”
A little over the top, maybe, but still. I don’t have to look to know that Hurley probably rolled his eyes.
“Can I take it off?” I ask Hurley.
“Let me take a couple of pictures first, and then I’ll take it off.”
He snaps a couple of photos with a small digital camera. He slips on some latex gloves.
“We’re going to see if we can get prints off all this.”
“So that means I’m not going to see it for a while.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll keep everything safe.”