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.
When I was on my own, after high school, when I was working for a landscaping company, my stepfather retired and moved south, somewhere in South Carolina now. His pension goes a long way there, I guess. My stepfather didn’t wanna lug all those records and the stereo equipment, so he left them for me. My older half brother got married and moved for work to Orange County, California. None of us communicates. An occasional Christmas card from my half brother, but that’s about it. I’m actually surprised that neither of them called me about Jeffrey’s murder. Maybe they don’t know. Dysfunction at its best. I don’t expect more, nor do I even want it. We’re all comfortably settled in our ways. Less clutter that way. I do have an odd attachment to my mother’s records, though, as well as my own records and the stereo equipment. Nothing that I can explain. Even if I could I wouldn’t. All I know is I want that shit back. I want to get to whoever killed Jeffrey first, before Millhoff. Didn’t think I’d ever see the stereo again, but I did, thanks to Hurley. The odds are very slim that I’ll ever see anything else, but the odds are good that I’ll find Biddy. Finding people is easy, long as you’re smart.
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Eight
Cicada shells are scattered about, leftover remains of some bird’s meal. Their delicate forms gently cling to the trunks of trees. Remnants of the past. The ones that still carry on are louder than normal. Their static-electric cry is everywhere.
Their song stays with me, though, even now in my car with the windows up and the air conditioning low. It’s like being in the ear canal of someone who suffers from tinnitus.
Or do I have tinnitus? Fuck.
I love surveillance. It’s like a secret space, and if it’s done right you can make yourself invisible, mostly to regular citizens. They don’t pay attention. Drug boys do. They’re the opposite of cops, but they have the same weird ability to spot the other side.
I find a tricky spot on the south side of the 1300 block of Riggs, right across from the cut leading to the alley behind their house. I adjust the rearview so I can see their stoop. If they do leave, I’ve got all angles except where the alley ends at 13th Street. I’m betting they keep a car on Riggs or in the parking lot behind the apartment buildings west of their house.