Find a Victim Read Online Free PDF

scarred brown hands were rolling a Bull Durham cigarette. When I got out of the car, his pinkish lashless eyes moved in my direction.
    “What can I do for you, bud?”
    “I’d like to see Mr. Meyer.”
    “Meyer ain’t here. He went off with his son-in-law.”
    “His son-in-law?”
    “Brand Church. The sheriff. Maybe you can catch him at home. Is it business?”
    “More or less. I hear you lost a rig.”
    “That’s right.” He licked the edge of his tan cigarette paper and pressed it into place. “And a driver.”
    “What kind of a rig?”
    “Twenty-ton semi-trailer.” He lit a kitchen match with his thumbnail and held it to his cigarette. “Cost the old man forty grand last year.”
    “What was it carrying?”
    He came to the edge of the platform, blinking down at me suspiciously. “I wouldn’t know. The old man told me not to talk about it.”
    “Why not?”
    “He’s sore as a boil. The rig and the payload was both insured, but when a firm loses a truck, shippers start gettingleery.” He glanced at the license number on the front of my car. “You from a newspaper?”
    “Not me.”
    “The bonding company?”
    “Guess again.” I climbed up the concrete steps to the platform. “What was the payload?”
    Turning quickly, he stepped inside the open back of the truck and came out with a long curved piece of steel like a blunt saber. He swung the tire-iron idly in his hand. “I don’t know you. Now what’s your interest?”
    “Take it easy—”
    “The hell. A chum of mine gets shot like a dog in the road and you tell me to take it easy. What’s your interest?”
    His voice was a fox-terrier yap, a high bark that sounded strange coming from a body like a flayed bear’s. The tire-iron swung faster, moving in a tight circle beside his leg. The muscles in his arm knotted and swelled like angry speckled snakes.
    I lifted my weight forward onto the balls of my feet, ready to move either way. “Take it hard, then. I found your friend on the highway. I didn’t like it, either.”
    “You found Tony after they killed him?”
    “He wasn’t dead when I picked him up. He died at the hospital a few minutes later.”
    “Did he say anything, tell you who drilled him?”
    “Tony wasn’t talking. He was unconscious, in deep shock. My interest is finding the people that did it to him.”
    “You a cop? State police?” His iron weapon was still, forgotten in his hand.
    “I’ve worked for the state police. I’m a private detective.”
    “Old man Meyer hire you?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You think he’s going to?”
    “If he’s smart.”
    “That’s what you think. Meyer still has his first nickel.” His rubbery mouth stretched in a broken-toothed grin. He laid the iron on the packing case behind him, ready to his hand.
    I reached for my cigarettes, then thought better of it. “I’m out of smokes. Can I roll one?”
    “Sure thing.”
    He handed me his tobacco and papers and watched me critically while I rolled a cigarette. My fingers remembered the knack. He lit it for me.
    “So you’re a detective, eh?”
    “That’s right. My name is Archer.”
    “Tarko.” He thumbed his chest. “They call me Hairless.”
    “Glad to meet you, Tarko. What was Tony’s run?”
    “It varied. Mostly he drove the San Francisco run. He was coming up from L.A. today, though. Special shipment.”
    “What kind of a truck was he driving?”
    “One of the new semis, GMC tractor, Fruehauf box. A twenty-tonner, same as that one there.”
    He pointed across the yard with his cigarette, to one of the trucks that were standing inside the gate. It was a closed semi-trailer the size of a small house. Its corrugated metal sides were bright with aluminum paint, except for the red and black sign: MEYER LINE—LOCAL AND LONG DISTANCE LAS CRUCES, CALIF .
    “And the payload?” I said.
    “You’ll have to ask the old man. I’m not supposed to know. I’m just watchman here since I had my accidents.”
    “But you do