Dirty Deeds Read Online Free PDF

have driven on the median at one point when the fast lane was too slow for my tastes, but I didn’t get pulled over and I arrived at my destination ahead of my personal schedule.
    Two cops stood over the covered body and when I announced myself and slipped both a crisp hundred dollar bill extra for their troubles, they let me see the kid.
    He was dead. The last time I’d seen him was too long ago, and I had no idea if this was even him until the autopsy came back. I could see his waterlogged flesh on both arms had track marks, though. He was a junkie.
    “When will you be doing the write-up?” I asked.
    “As soon as you walk away we make the call. Do you know the kid or want to make a statement?”
    “I wasn’t here.” I gave them both a business card. “Do me a favor: when you notify the parents and they say it’s their son, I need to know they verified everything. Got it?”
    Both cops nodded. They knew I’d give them a few more bucks for their trouble, too.
    It might have been a wasted trip, but I didn’t think so. The cops would stay close to the body and no one would mess with it. As soon as the parents claimed him I could have a chat with them.
    I hadn’t planned on staying in Boston but I’d get an early jump in the morning and drive to New York. I called Marisa and told her to book me a bogus flight back to Miami in the late morning. I’d eat the ticket but get Keane off my back.
    Traffic was a bitch getting back into Boston but I made the hotel by five, parked and smiled when I saw my tail, waiting in the parking garage. He’d spent the last two hours sitting and stewing. I was sure he’d neglect to mention to Keane I’d shaken him with ease.
    I had enough time for a quick shower and a change into a pair of well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt with my faded Braves cap for good measure. I was in Boston, where my favorite team had started, so I felt comfortable wearing it. I never bothered unpacking the cap when I was in Philadelphia or Queens. Those fans would pour a beer on your head.
    By the time I got down to the lobby Reggie was waiting, watching the rich tourists or businessmen coming and going. He greeted me with a quick wave. I could see he was dressed casual for his style, with no tie on a button-down shirt and a pair of loose-fitting khaki pants. I could see he was unarmed, too. I knew I was no physical threat to him in his mind. He thought wrong, but it wasn’t like I’d break his arm unless I had to.
    Let’s stop again so I can reset and fill you in on a few things: I’m in my mid-forties, like I already said. I’m a bit overweight, like Marisa loves to point out. I don’t run unless absolutely necessary, and then usually for a pizza. I do all of my work by stealth and infinite patience when I’m working the job. I don’t carry a gun even though I own quite a few. I’m not an assassin. I think I said it before, but I’ll reiterate the point. I’m no killer, even though I have the greatest reputation for being one. But don’t cross me, because there are those who’ve done it in the past and while I haven’t killed anyone so far, the day was still young, as the saying goes.
    Did I touch on this before? It sucks getting old.

FOUR
    Another aside before we continue.
    Sitting with Reggie, enjoying a cool summer night watching a baseball game and my mouth watering as I’m waiting for the hot dog guy to pass me a couple of good ones, I’m struck by the realization I’m not a calm as I’ve probably led some to believe.
    If I’m acting like I’m as cool as the other side of the pillow, it’s all an act.
    Despite the hunger, my stomach was roiling for another reason. I was nervous. Even though Keane and I had an odd and civil relationship, I had no doubt he was trying to trip me up with every innocuous question or comment. He was trying to feel me out, and after the last couple of days I knew his bumbling Keystone Cops routine was his way of getting me off my guard. It had worked.