Headstone Read Online Free PDF

share some of yours, Gabe, help us . . .
    bond?”
    He shut down. The meeting was over. He handed
    me a tiny white card, three phone numbers, said,
    “You report only to me, and need I stress that
    speed is of the essence?”
    I nearly gave the Nazi salute but it would have
    been too obvious.
    I flicked his card on the table, said,
    “You’re forgetting the important bit.”
    Finally, with a look of surprise, he indicated the fat
    envelope, said,
    “I think you’ll find the fee more than generous and
    a speedy resolution will result in a very handsome
    bonus.”
    I said,
    “You don’t listen too good, do you Gabe? So, I’ll
    say it slow, you might be able to hear it then. I
    haven’t said I’ll take the job.”
    His lips literally peeled back to reveal those
    marvelous teeth.
    He said,
    “Mr. Taylor, you are a Catholic, lapsed, perhaps,
    but still part of our flock. You have helped the
    Church in the past, albeit reluctantly, I understand,
    but surely you want to see the Church restored to
    its former glory?”
    Back to its bullying days, its arrogance, its total
    disregard of the people. I had an overwhelming
    desire to wallop him, a powerful right hand to his
    tanned face, wipe out one or two of those perfect
    teeth.
    I said,
    “I’ll take the case. One, because I think you’re
    lying through your teeth. Two, it’s a blast to be
    actually receiving money from the Church. But
    know this, Gabe, I don’t report and I’m not, no
    way, part of your flock, lapsed or otherwise.”
    It was impossible to gauge how he took it. He
    stood, said,
    “I have covered our dinner bill.”
    I asked,
    “When was Loyola last seen?”
    He was already leaving, said,
    “He gave the eleven o’clock mass in his parish ten
    days ago and then disappeared.”
    He strode off, master of all he surveyed. A vague
    rumor of piety in his wake. He hadn’t wished me
    “God bless.”
    In lieu, I counted the cash, a blessing in its
    commercial self.
    Later I picked up some books from Charlie
    Byrne’s Bookshop.
    Vinny in full metal said,
    “They’re preparing a flood fund for the families
    devastated from the rains.”
    I said,
    “Why don’t they just use their usual slush fund?”
    I bought a shitload of books,
    including:
    Jason Starr,
    Craig McDonald,
    Tom Piccirilli,
    R.J. Ellory,
    Megan Abbott.
    Vinny said,
    “Nice selection.”
    I also picked up Carol O’Connell, I don’t care
    what anyone says,
    Mallory was a definite influence on Stieg Larsson.
    In Find Me, there’s a passage that scalds my soul.
    “…………………………..he asked her
    ‘Why don’t you want to have kids?’
    Mallory said
    ‘Because I don’t know what they’re for.’”
    My apartment in Nun’s Island was sublet to me by
    a guy who decided to take a gap year in his late
    forties. Some gap. Reeked more of midlife crisis
    but better, I guess, than a red sports car. He
    showed no inclination to return and I wasn’t
    encouraging him. Nun’s Island is a small
    neighborhood, nestling close to the cathedral.
    And, yes, there are nuns.
    The Poor Clares.
    An enclosed community. To simply enter their
    grounds was to find a rare tranquility. To tread
    lightly on holy ground. They were currently running
    a campaign to pay for the restoration of the
    convent. Titled:
    “Buy a Brick.”
    You bought a brick by buying a ticket which then
    went forward to a lotto. Being newly flush with
    cash, I went to them, offered the Mother Superior
    fifty euros. She protested it was too much. She
    noticed me staring at her neck. Nuns, like cops, see
    everything. I thought, if you’re staring at a nun’s
    neck, you need a brick.
    Hard, to the side of your head.
    I was entranced by a necklace she wore. It
    appeared to be tiny beautiful stones, threaded
    through a silver chain. Each stone had a letter. She
    noticed, was delighted, said,
    “It reads, Medugorje.”
    I asked,
    “You’ve been?”
    She shook her head at such an idea, said,
    “No, my sister went, and,