Fiddle Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

wandering back to the table. I didn’t consciously decide to put the food down, but pretty soon I was back to staring down the cue stick, sizing up a long, single-cushion shot on the ten ball. Going into my spatial meditation mode.
    Shots with a lot of open green are a kind of Zen thing for me. At first, I can’t see the angle and can’t compute my way to it, either. Might as well shoot with my eyes closed. But if I wait, take my time, and sort of identify with the space of the setup, suddenly the line will reveal itself to me and I absolutely can’t miss. When I drop the ball, it will look like a lucky fluke, but luck has nothing to do with it. I did a few practice strokes and waited for the line to appear. Did luck have anything to do with Amy Cox? A lot of long green on that table. Much less on Jimmy Cox’s bond. Eighteen K is little people’s dreams, not the stuff of conspiracy or murder. Sixty gets a bit more interesting, but whoever killed Amy wouldn’t actually get their hands on even the eighteen, much less the big money. Did I use enough chalk? You have to put it on before you go out in the rain. Otherwise it won’t stick, and you’ll wind up like …Jesus, where did that come from? And why couldn’t I see the line yet?
    The felt turned a slightly darker shade of green, and I looked up to see two guys blocking the light from the window. Closest to me, looking as if he expected something, was a big, shapeless, forty-something guy with an oversized head and puffy, babylike features. The kind of guy that will still look like Baby Huey when he’s eighty. Scowl marks by the mouth and eyes told me that he worked a bit too hard at overcoming that image. The other guy was smaller in every dimension, with dark, stringy hair and a gaunt face that looked like a poster for European famine relief. As if he had read my mind, he made a show of eating the rest of my burger.
    Both guys had brimmed hats pulled low and semi-respectable topcoats that were bulky enough to hide all kinds of hardware. And they were both working very hard at looking mean and serious. Was I about to be leaned on? What the hell for? I looked over to where Wide Track was still shooting with the Asian kids. If he had picked up on the situation, he made no sign, but then, he wouldn’t. Hollow Cheeks spoke first, while Babyface continued to stare me down.
    “Good burger. Get me another one, will you?”
    “You think so?” I said. “I put it down after I thought I saw something moving in the onions, but maybe that was just my imagination.”
    “Bullshit.” Obviously, not the captain of his high school debating team. I continued to bend over and sight down the pool cue, only now I was visually measuring its length against the distance between me and the big guy.
    “You Herman Jackson?” Babyface, this time.
    “Who’s asking, exactly?” Too far. I needed to get about two feet closer, for a really effective swing.
    “Detective Evans, Homicide. My partner over there, with the tape worm, is Stroud. We gotta show you our badges?”
    “If we’re talking business here, that would be the professional way to proceed, wouldn’t it?” I stood partway up, but I didn’t let go of the cue stick.
    Evans made a show of looking put out, but he pulled a gold badge out of an inner pocket and gave me all of a three-second look at it. His partner gave me an even shorter look at his. I tried to think of a recent homicide case that I had carried a bond on, but I was coming up empty. “Did one of my customers show up missing?”
    “Not as far as I know. We’re here about the woman who got killed in front of your office today.”
    I finally let go of the cue and stood up. “Amy Cox,” I said. “You’ve decided to call it a murder?”
    “Yeah, we call it murder. But we don’t call her Amy Cox. And we’re very interested to know why you do.”
    “How about because that’s who she is? Get a clue here, detectives. Haven’t you talked to her brother