Bluetick Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page A

started back to the living
     room. “I’ve been doped up for seven years,” she added, “so give me a break.”
    “All right,” I said, “forget I mentioned it. Let me show you around.” I gave her a tour of my home, showed how the kitchen
     was organized, taught her how to work the remote, then led her upstairs to the guest bedroom and let her dump her belongings.
     “There’s a bathroom in there,” I said. “If you need anything, let me know.” I left her there and went to my study on the main
     floor.
    I hadn’t held a salaried job since leaving the practice of law, but I kept busy. I did investigative work for my former law
     partners and most anyone else who could pay me. I worked out every day, spent time at my brother’s gym in Denver, read lots
     of philosophy in an attempt to make some sense of this thing we call life, and sometimes showed up at a karate class taught
     by my best friend, an unemployed astrophysicist named Scott McCutcheon.
    I sat at my desk and pondered what to do. The Anvil incident concerned me because word would be out that Karlynn was still
     in the area and keeping company with a man matching my description. We were lucky it hadn’t happened in Nederland. Once they
     knew I lived up here, it wouldn’t be hard to find me.
    I picked up the phone and dialed Matt. A woman answered and told me he was in a meeting. I asked her to interrupt. My need
     to speak with him was not urgent, but I abhor phone tag. After thirty seconds of elevator music, Matt came on the line.
    “We need to revisit the money issue,” I deadpanned.
    “A deal is a deal,” he shot back. “You’re stuck with her. The two of you having fun?”
    “Yeah, she’s a laugh a minute,” I said. “I pull you away from something important?”
    “No, what can I do for you?”
    “After helping Ms. Slade buy lingerie this afternoon,” I said, “I had the pleasure of meeting a gentleman named Anvil. Anvil
     is an acquaintance of Mr. Bugg, and he told us Mr. Bugg is most unhappy with Ms. Slade. He also indicated Mr. Bugg has put
     a five-thousand-dollar bounty on the head of the gentleman responsible for stealing his canine companion. I’m paraphrasing,
     of course, but I thought it might be prudent to ask you for copies of any documents in your possession pertaining to Anvil
     or Bugg or the Sons of Satan.”
    “You done?” he asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Because that was entertaining. If you’ve got more, I want to hear it. It beats the hell out of going over tax returns with
     the IRS.”
    “I’m afraid that was it,” I said.
    “Okay,” he said. “The answer to your question is that prior to finalizing an agreement on behalf of Ms. Slade, I insisted—as
     any competent attorney would-that the feds provide me with sufficient documentation to convince me they had a case against
     her. I’ll have a courier deliver copies to you tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” I said.
    “Friday, then.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    “I don’t know how much it will help,” he said. “Most of the reports I have pertain only to Karlynn and the prostitution operation.
     You can’t show them to her, by the way. That would contaminate her testimony. She has to testify from her own personal knowledge.
     The feds don’t want some slick half-Jewish defense lawyer arguing she was just parroting what she’d read in their files.”
     It was a rare example of Matt making an attempt at humor. Self-deprecating humor in this instance. His father was Jewish and
     his mother a Baptist from Alabama. Or as Matt likes to say, he’s half Elijah, half Kawiiga. Elijah, for those who don’t know,
     was a Jewish prophet, and Kawliga was a wooden Indian made famous by Hank Williams.
    “I understand,” I said.
    “Hey, before I hang up, what kind of shape is Anvil in?”
    “It didn’t come to that,” I said. “Anvil’s cards weren’t very good. He decided to fold and play another day.”
    “You take care,” he said.
    “Roger