Countdown City: The Last Policeman Book II (Last Policeman Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

and I still wear blazers, most of the time; most of the time I put a tie on, too. McGully’s in a polo shirt with his name stitched across the breast pocket.
    “We never used to talk that much,” Culverson explains, “just to say hi, except now it’s just him and me on the block, so I pop in on the guy every now and then, just knock on the door, how you doing, you know? He’s pretty old.”
    McGully puffs on his cigar, getting bored.
    “Anyway, yesterday Sergeant Thunder comes by to show me something. Says he really isn’t supposed to, but he can’t resist.”
    Culverson finds what he was looking for in the right-inside pocket of his blazer and slides it across the table to me. It’s a brochure, slim and elegant, a glossy all-color trifold with pictures of smiling elderly people in a wood-paneled lounge, sconce lit and pleasant. There are photos of heroic-jawed security men in helmets striding sterile hallways. A young couple beaming over a meal: linen tablecloth, pasta and salad. And in a tasteful and understated font,
The World of Tomorrow Awaits You …
    “The World of Tomorrow?” I ask, and McGully grabs the brochure. “Bull hockey,” he snorts, turning it this way and that. “A dump truck full of bull hockey.”
    He tosses it back across the table and I read the pitch on the reverse side. The World of Tomorrow offers berths in a “meticulously appointed, securely constructed, permanent facility in an undisclosed location in the White Mountains of New Hampshire.” The word “permanent” is in italics. There are three levels of accommodationon offer: standard, premium, and luxury.
    I lay it back on the table. “Here,” says McGully. “Take a napkin. Dab off some of the bull hockey.”
    There is, I note, no admission price listed for this marvelous “World of Tomorrow.” I ask Culverson and he says drily that from what Sergeant Thunder said, it varies from customer to customer. In other words, the price is whatever you’ve got.
    “Last night I watched them come and take Sergeant Thunder’s riding lawnmower, his little wine refrigerator, and his microwave,” says Culverson. “This morning they dismantled his brick shed, knocked it apart with those big masonry hammers and carted away the bricks. They wear jumpsuits, these guys. I think jumpsuits are a nice touch, if you’re looking to swindle someone out of everything they own.”
    “You didn’t try and stop them?” says McGully, and Culverson rears back, gives him an
are-you-crazy?
    “Yeah,” he says. “I put up my dukes. You think these guys aren’t carrying?”
    I turn the brochure over in my hands. State-of-the-art medical facilities. Gourmet meals. Craps tables.
    “Besides,” says Culverson. “You should have seen the smile on the Sergeant’s face.” He leans back and gives us the look, fox in a henhouse. “Grinning like a sex fiend. I’ve never seen an old man look so happy.”
    McGully looks agitated. He taps ash into his teacup and says, “What’s the point?” but he already knows the point, and I do, too.Culverson gives it to us anyway. “Maybe it’s false hope you’re giving this girl, your old babysitter—but it’s hope, right? Little spark in the darkness?” McGully makes an irritated sputter, and Culverson turns to him, says, “I’m serious, man. Maybe having Palace working on her case keeps this lady from going nuts.”
    “Exactly,” I say. “That’s—exactly.”
    Culverson takes a hard look at me, turns back to McGully. “Hell, maybe it keeps Palace from going nuts.”
    I bend back over my notebook, moving on. “If you wanted to make a pizza, where would you go for ingredients? This guy’s boss sends him out yesterday morning for basics, and I presume he means at a rummage.”
    “No question,” says Culverson. “No one’s running a pizza restaurant with ERAS cheese.” He doesn’t say the letters, he pronounces it out like most people, sounds like
heiress
. The Emergency Resource Allocation