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.
The tired-looking brick convenience store is one of the few survivors left on the lower end of 14th Street, and in all likelihood it is not a welcome neighbor. All the other newer buildings, stores, and restaurants around here, with their well-kept exteriors, make the store look toxic, like something that’ll eventually eat away and destroy a beautiful coral reef.
Again the passenger exits and pulls out the small flat-screen. He sets it on the pavement between the cab and a parked car. He fiddles with the suitcase, but it doesn’t look like he’s trying to pull it out. Instead he grabs a laptop from inside, closes the trunk. He cradles the flat-screen with his right hand, walks to the store, opens the door with the hand carrying the laptop, and disappears inside.
The cabbie rolls down his window, takes a puff of a cigarette, exhales out the window. He looks to be in his early sixties. He has a round, friendly face, a well-trimmed beard, salt-and-pepper medium-length hair, and he wears glasses. Looks like a well-seasoned cabbie.
I call Luna using my car’s Bluetooth.
“What’s up, Frankie?” He greets me right away.
“Are you at your desk?”
“What do you need?”
“Just a little love. Can’t I miss my ex–work wife?”
“Fuck you. You’re the bitch in this relationship.”
“Maybe now, but not then.”
“Just give me the name you want me to run and tell me you’re not doing anything stupid.”
“Actually, a tag, and no, I’m not. I’m working a new gig.”
I hate lying all the time. Especially to him.
“Go on.”
I give it.
“A cab?”
“Yeah.”
“He piss you off or something? Or is this really actual work?”
“Both.”
“Doesn’t have anything to do with the murder of your cousin, right?”
“Right.”
“Hold on,” he says.
I hear his fingers working the keyboard.
Seconds later: “I get caught doing this shit for you it could mean my job.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Ready to copy?”
“Go.”
I ready my pen and notebook.
“Robert Diamond, black male, DOB 09/07/45. It’s an indie cab that comes back to an address in NE.”
He gives me the address.
“No record?”
“Hold on.”
More typing.
“He’s clean. I can go deeper, but WALES shows no record.”
“Naw, that’s good enough for me, bro. Appreciate it.”
“I know you do, ’cause you got no one else.”
“I do, but I love you best.”
“All right, now.”
“I owe you a lunch.”
“Drinks and a cigar at Shelly’s.”
“Good enough. I’ll give you a call when I get through this shit.”
“Be safe.”
“You, too, brother.”
I tap the screen to disconnect.
Robert Diamond. No record. You’re gonna be my new friend.
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
Not even ten minutes inside and the crackhead comes out sipping a bottle of orange soda.