Drumsticks Read Online Free PDF Page B

Loveless asked then, softening a bit.
    I shook my head. “No. This was my first and maybe last night. I was filling in for a musician who’s sick.”
    â€œGuess you caught a nasty break, too,” he said. I waited while he tapped a Bic ballpoint on his notepad. “You know the owner of this place?” he asked mildly.
    â€œNot really. I’ve seen him a few times.”
    â€œNice guy?”
    â€œI guess. Nice enough to me. He likes music.”
    â€œWell, that’s just peachy,” Loveless said. “Listen, Miss Hayes, if anybody was going to get whacked here tonight, the manager’s a much likelier target than your friend.”
    That’s when I turned off the motor mouth.
    â€œYeah, Mister Nice Guy has got a history of borrowing money for his business ventures. Some people, you borrow money from them and don’t pay it back on time, it makes them kinda upset. You get what I mean?”
    I nodded my complete understanding.
    â€œAnd some of the other employees around here, Miss Hayes,” he continued, “the bouncer, for example. You think a big ugly guy like that is a stranger to the Department? Why don’t you ask him sometime about the accommodations at some of our finer state institutions?”
    I cast a surreptitious look over at the bulk of Nate, to whom I had never paid a minute’s notice before. “Gotcha,” I said.
    â€œSo understand, Miss Hayes. We’re not making any accusations here. I still think the person who shot up this place was some kind of a nut. But what I don’t think is that an old lady who sells dolls in Union Square Park is at the top of anybody’s hit list.”
    He paused there, and when he spoke again, he said, “You know, I think I could see somebody wanting to whack you. What with all those enemies of yours. We could start looking into your life. How’d you like that?”
    That tore it.
    â€œThanks very much,” I said. “I think I’ll pass on that.”
    The Bad Lieutenant lit a cigarette then. “We’ll be in touch.”
    It was muddy dawn before I got home. I had not slept at all. Now, in the morning light, I looked down into the heavily weeded courtyard and saw the super’s scruffy old dog nosing into a Kentucky Fried Chicken bag.
    My coffee was ready—the second pot. I poured myself some, spiking it liberally with bourbon. I wrapped up in a blanket, then took to the couch. Grim and alone. Again.
    Ida Williams had been so busy pushing those goddamn dolls to everybody else that she forgot to keep one for herself.
    And as for my luck—well, that didn’t last long, did it? After being all messed up behind everything that had happened in Paris, after being miserable and drunk for months, it looked like my luck had finally turned. I’d stopped boozing. Rejoined the human race. I’d got back on track with Aubrey. I’d got into a nice groove on the street, making nice money. I’d even got a job I could stand. Yet, here I was again.
    Sure enough, the old karma was still working, still kicking my butt.
    I groaned. The newspapers would be out now. Some of the late editions might very well carry the story of what had happened at Omega last night. It was quite possible that Jeff, who had gotten the gig for me, might be reading about it in a couple of hours’ time—or Justin might see the story, or, God help me, my mother. What if the papers mentioned my name, listing me as a friend of the victim? I groaned a second time.
    As I had given the police what scant information they had on Ida, there was a very good chance I’d be mentioned. I could just imagine Mom browsing through the Daily News over her morning Taster’s Choice and spotting my name.
    Piss off! I wanted to shout at Ernestine. I know I have to call her and tell her everything. I know! Just to contemplate it made me pull the blanket over my head.
    About thirty minutes later, the