Dreams of a Hero Read Online Free PDF Page A

not stupid.”
    “Not during the day.” A deep voice interrupted the lawyer’s account. An older man, maybe in his forties, the size of a frigate but gnarled as the oak it was made from, towered over them. “After dark. Don’t walk home down the back streets.”
    Roger indicated the empty chair at their table. “Would you care to join us?”
    The man shook his head. “Just picking up a coffee.” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “Got a load to deliver the other side of Boston. Couldn’t help hearing. Wanted to warn you.” He nodded and moved over to the counter. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
    “Is that true?” If they’d been in the Midwest, where the social milieu had barely reached the twentieth century, let alone the twenty-first, Miles could have readily believed it, but surely not here? Not in Massachusetts, a place he’d hoped would prove to be more civilised.
    Strauss tipped his head in the direction of the truck driver. “Lou doesn’t lie. If I had witnesses like him to put in the box, I’d never lose a case.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on steepled hands. “Take his advice. Not that I hope you’ll run into these guys, but take it anyway. Or make sure you pass for straight, although hanging around this place gives the game away. Even Lou doesn’t tell his ma he comes here for his coffee and bagels. Isn’t that right, Lou?”
    “Only because she’d yell at me for not making my own.” Lou grinned over his shoulder. “You guys from England? The son spent some time there. Surprised you didn’t run across him.”
    Miles bit his tongue. How he’d have loved to point out that, contrary to expectations, England was a big place and, with sixty million inhabitants, not everyone was on first name terms with everyone else. Roger had already said something similar to a checkout girl, who was convinced that—as he worked in London—he’d be sure to know her cousin who lived there. They’d almost ended up in a fight, and while they’d have taken on the checkout girl, Lou was another prospect.
    Roger had evidently learned his lesson. “No, I’m afraid we didn’t.” He winked at Strauss, who must have got the point. “Perhaps he kept his head down and his nose clean.”
    “Yep. That sounds like him.” Lou turned back to the counter.
    “Right, let me get this straight. You’re saying this pair come in here and give you a bit of verbal, because you’re gay.” Miles felt he was stating the bleeding obvious, but sometimes you had to make absolutely sure you weren’t leaping to conclusions. “And Lou says that extends to fisticuffs in dark alleys.”
    “ Fisticuffs .” Strauss beamed. “You guys. Do you really say that?”
    “You should wait till Miles gets started. Like a BBC costume drama.” Roger sat back in his chair. “You’ve got me interested. Tell us the rest and I promise Miles won’t make inane or archaic remarks.”
    “Aw, let him. It’s a treat.” Strauss’s words were light and he continued to smile, but the look in his eye had become deadly serious. “Some people in here say old man Phillipson has a contact in the police department in his pocket. Or maybe it was just a coincidence about the two guys who got beaten up. Both gay. Both walking home from here at dead of night. Both of them put Phillipson at the scene, and both of them had to be mistaken, or so the cops say. Bastards had cast-iron alibis and nobody’s managed to come up with any other suspects, Phillipson lookalike or not.”
    “Roger writes murder mysteries and he’d think the cast-iron alibis were the fishiest part of all. Nobody ever has those, not in real life.” Miles ran his fingers through his hair.
    “Oh, they do, I’m sure. But it’s rare they can trot them out and have them verified. I can’t always remember what I did yesterday. Let alone two weeks ago. Now,” Roger cut to the heart of the matter, “was it just Phillipson at the scene?”
    “No. The old man