Adjourned Read Online Free PDF

about appearances before. Now he cared. Shit, he thought, am I bored. To drown out Ethel, he clicked on KROQ-FM and turned up the volume. A rebel yell from Billy Idol shook the car. Ethel sang on, undaunted.
    Macklin had been following Saputo around for two days and had canceled several charter flights to find the time. He was beginning to get mad about all the money he had pissed away to play cops and robbers. Time Macklin could have spent in the air, flying charters and thereby paying the bills that cluttered his office, was killed in his car outside Saputo's apartment building listening to Dire Straits and Bruce Springsteen tapes.
    At least Mort is flying, Macklin thought. It's a good thing, too, or I wouldn't have the money to pay him.
    Macklin wouldn't have been upset if Saputo had at least done something incriminating. But Saputo rarely left his weed-landscaped mustard yellow Mar Vista apartment building except to run down to Safeway for groceries. Macklin was beginning to wonder if Stocker and Shaw knew what they were talking about.
    Saputo turned right where Culver met Venice Boulevard and then veered left onto Robertson. Macklin followed, yawning, noticing with irritation that the afternoon was giving way to evening. The city was now enjoying the chilly afterglow of a day of cold, hazy blue sunshine.
    The Seville wound through a mazelike path of side streets lined with bland, boxy, one- and two-story industrial buildings before pulling over beside a windowless warehouse. Macklin drove past the warehouse, made a U-turn two blocks away, and came back. He stopped behind a cement mixing truck parked kitty-corner from the warehouse and turned off his ignition.
    He watched Saputo rise from the passenger side of the Seville. Three hairless grizzly bears stuffed into camel-colored slacks and Sanka brown corduroy jackets emerged from the car after him. Macklin had no doubt the three apes packed some heavy artillery under those carved-granite shoulders.
    Macklin studied Saputo, who strutted toward the warehouse door in his Jordache jeans, tan polyester jacket, and red silky dress shirt unbuttoned down to the bulge of his stomach. A gold chain tapped against his bony chest with each footfall.
    It was Macklin's first opportunity to look at the man. In the next brief second or two, Macklin knew Stocker and Shaw were right. He saw it in Saputo's self-impressed gait, in the narrow I'm-fucking-your-wife-and-your-daughter-too grin, in the eyes that conveyed a school-yard bully's childish defiance and disrespect.
    Macklin saw Saputo slip a key into the steel door, which was the bottom right corner of a much larger door that could slide up to let in trucks. Saputo stepped inside, two guards galloping after him like pet dogs. The third man stayed outside grimacing, apparently unhappy at having to perform sentry duty.
    Macklin settled back in his seat, pushed a Doors tape in the Sanyo, and prepared for a long wait. The guard lit a cigarette, reached down with one hand to adjust his balls, and began to pace in front of the warehouse, blowing smoke out of his mouth in tiny circles.
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    A van wound around the corner in front of Macklin, the headlight beams cutting a swath in the darkness toward his head. Macklin ducked as the light passed through the car and glanced at his watch. It was 8:04 p.m. Roughly three hours had passed since he had parked outside the warehouse.
    Macklin sat up and saw the van pull up to the warehouse door. The driver honked twice. The sentry, facing Macklin's direction as he appeared around the edge of the warehouse, tossed away a glowing cigarette butt and walked around the back of the van to the driver's side.
    The driver and the sentry knew each other, Macklin assumed, because the sentry stayed there chatting as the steel warehouse door rose noisily. Bright light spilled from inside the warehouse and bathed the van in whiteness. The van surged forward, and Macklin could see the end of a laugh on the