Bright Futures: A Lew Fonesca Mystery (Lew Fonesca Novels) Read Online Free PDF Page B

ease the pain.
    “Corkle had nothing much to say,” said Viviase. “He did refer to himself in the third person and compared life to a game of poker twice. He tried to give me a box with a Wonder Chopper inside. I told him I couldn’t take it. Your mini CD player and the CDs are being held as possible evidence.”
    “Of what?” Ames asked.
    “I don’t know,” said Viviase. “I have a headache and I don’t know. Just answer the questions, Fonesca, and don’t ask any. I have places to go and things to do, and my wife promised me that she would have chicken in duck sauce for dinner tonight. I plan to be there for it.”
    I nodded. Ames stood straight and silent.
    “You moved to a new place,” Viviase said.
    “Yes. Had to. DQ is gone. My office building goes down tomorrow. I’m right around the corner, off of Laurel.”
    “Life goes on,” Viviase said.
    “Even when we don’t care.”
    “The Chinese guy?” said Viviase.
    “He’s moving with me, I think.”
    “You’re nuts,” said Viviase.
    “No . . . Maybe. It doesn’t matter.”
    “Get better. Come and see me,” he said taking a deep breath. Then he turned his head toward Ames and added, “Take care of him.”
    “I aim to,” said Ames.
    When Viviase was gone, I stood again, this time without Ames’s help.
    “We going to look for whoever took the shot?” he asked.
    “We are,” I said. “Either that or I buy a car and head out of town forever.”
    “That won’t work.”
    “I guess.”
    “Where do we start?”
    “In juvenile detention,” I said, adjusting my Cubs cap and noticing that it had a slight but real tear on the right side. “First we talk to Augustine.”
     
    I didn’t fall on my face as we moved to the elevator to go up to the private fourth floor room where Jeff Augustine was lying on his back. He wore a white hospital gown with a thin white blanket pulled up to his chest. An IV was going. His left eye was closed. His right eye was covered by a taped-down gauze pad. His hands were folded in front of him. He looked like a one-eyed saint.
    “Jeff?” I tried.
    Augustine made a sound but didn’t open his eye. I tried again.
    “Augustine.”
    This time his left eye popped open and he let out a pained groan as he reached up with his right hand to touch the injured eye.
    “Hurts,” he said.
    “I know,” I said.
    “How would you know?”
    “I have a natural empathy. Besides I got caught by flying glass.”
    “We get a medal or something?” Augustine asked, closing his eye again and explaining, “Hurts less when both eyes are closed. I may lose the eye.”
    “Maybe so,” said Ames.
    “Who is he?” Augustine said, being careful not to turn his head.
    “My friend,” I said. “Ames McKinney.”
    “Weren’t we both in an episode of
The Yellow Rose
?”
    “Not an actor,” said Ames.
    “I could have sworn, but . . . Damn, what if this killed me? My obit would make a single line in
Variety
, ‘Bit Player Killed by BB Gun.’ Bitter irony.”
    Alana Legerman walked in. She wafted perfume and looked sleek, dark, and beautiful.
    “What happened?” she asked, moving to the side of the bed next to Augustine.
    She was as tranquil as her offspring Greg was wired.
    “Someone shot BBs at us,” said Augustine. “Hit me in the eye.”
    “Who did it?” she asked.
    No one had an answer, but Alana Legerman had a question.
    She looked at Augustine and said, “Are you all right? Are you going to lose your eye?”
    She tried to say it nice, but it was as if she were asking if the dime dropped on the floor was his. I couldn’t be sure if she was just saying the right thing or if she had shown concern to her father’s employee beyond that of an heiress.
    “I’m all right,” Augustine said. “I’ve still got one twenty-twenty eye.”
    “I’m all right too,” I said.
    There was no way even a casual glance would have failed to reveal the scratches on my face and neck.
    “I’m sorry,” said Alana Legerman.