Headstone City Read Online Free PDF Page A

silver rug, finally managed to get around to it. “You shouldn't be hanging around this part of the neighborhood, Johnny.”
    “That right?” Like you could be in the neighborhood without being in every part of it at the same time. When you were back, you were in all the way.
    “It's not the safest place for you.”
    “Think it's safer than the can?”
    “Maybe not.”
    Phil took the next turn so wide that they wound up in oncoming traffic, tires squealing. He let out a wild guffaw and swerved back into his lane, tapping the curb. Dane shifted uneasily.
    “What, you scared?”
    “No.”
    “You look edgy.”
    “I always do.”
    It still got to him, after all these years. He hated being in a car with anybody else driving, no matter who it was or how good they were behind the wheel. Dane was a driver. He always wanted to be in charge of the machine.
    Rummaging through the glove compartment, he came up with a pair of thick glasses in dark plastic frames. He figured they'd be there, the man too vain to use them. “You sure you don't need these for driving, Phil?”
    “Ah, them optometrists, whatta they know?”
    “That you can't see?”
    “I see fine.”
    Dane put the glasses back, imagining how tough it must be on Phil's wife, Mabel, living with him now that he was retired, refusing to think of himself as any different than when he was twenty-five. She probably had gin bottles stashed all over the house, in the toilet tank, behind the insulation in the attic, in back of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. One of these days she'd grab the drain opener instead and that would be the end of her consoling, sneaky sipping.
    Now the guy was getting a little crazy. Phil nearly sideswiped a bus making a tight left turn from the opposite lane. Dane fidgeted again, knowing this was a weakness he couldn't hide, and it had taken the man all of five minutes to find it out.
    “Well, at least you've got a hard head,” Phil said. He let out a slow, low, counterfeit laugh that went on for too long. He tapped the inside of the windshield . . . one, two, three . . . then reached over and did the same to Dane's forehead . . . one, two, three. Phil even grabbed him by the neck so he could lay his fingers on the scars and check if they were still there.
    Knocking at the metal doors of his skull.
    On the day Dane and Vinny stole their third car, they went joyriding down to the Jersey Shore. They spent the day swimming, lying out on the sand, and moving the car around to different parking lots whenever a police cruiser came by. They met a couple of girls, freshmen in college, who spent equal parts of the afternoon snubbing them and aggressively flirting with them. By sunset they lay wrapped in their beach towels in the dunes, drunk and mostly naked. As with all the worst troubles in his life, Dane missed his chance at an easy escape by only a few seconds.
    Vinny spoiled the night by putting on his pants, taking out his wallet, and offering the girls money. Not even much at that. He was still a little steamed about his girl initially rebuffing him, even though she'd eventually hauled his ashes. He could carry a grudge to the bottom of hell.
    Pissed off and humiliated, the girls threw their beer cans at Vinny's chest, gave him the finger, and fled. Dane actually had to grab him by the arm to keep him from giving chase, like he was going to smack them around, make them take the cash. He was just starting to show the Monticelli temper, the resentments that he'd never shake.
    By the time Dane and Vinny finished another six-pack and got back to the car, they were buzzing pretty good. Dane took it slow out of the parking lot, driving carefully, but suddenly the exit was blocked by two screeching cop cars.
    Instead of pillow talk or discussing the violin, Vinny had told his girl all about boosting the car. Showing off, starting to swing his weight around, mentioning the Don. After he'd embarrassed her, she'd gone up to the boardwalk and called the