Infected: Lesser Evils Read Online Free PDF Page A

hadn’t killed the client.
    Cooper’s was a bar like any other bar—poorly lit, reeking of beer and despair, classic rock playing faintly in a background slightly overwhelmed by SportsCenter coming from a small TV over the bar, which almost no one was paying attention to. Holden was sitting slumped at the end of the bar nearest the door, working on what Roan guessed was a gin and tonic (Holden liked gin—it seemed to be the only alcohol he really liked). Roan sat on the empty stool beside him and asked, “Ready to go?”
    “Yeah.” He swigged down the rest of his drink, and Roan saw some of the damage done.
    “Holy shit.” He turned Holden’s face toward him. He had a bloodied lower lip, with a slight tear in the corner of his mouth, and his left eye was bruised and starting to blacken. It wasn’t bad right now, but in a few hours it’d be a good-sized shiner.
    Holden twisted his head away and said, “Don’t worry about it. Guy surprised me, got a couple of good licks in, but then I recovered and got him. If you think I look bad, you should see him.”
    “You should report him to police. I’ll come with you.”
    He shook his head as he swiveled off his stool. “No need.”
    “Why not?”
    “’Cause I did worse to him, and I let him know if he went to the cops about me, I’d destroy him. I meant it.” Holden headed out, shoulders hunched, hands dug in the pockets of his leather jacket. He was in his jeans/white T-shirt outfit that might as well have been the male hustler uniform. Roan followed, but waited to speak until they were in the car.
    “Politician or preacher?”
    “Circuit court judge.”
    Roan hadn’t expected that. “Really?”
    “You haven’t heard the best bit. He was in town to speak at a prayer breakfast this morning, and he was probably drunk by the afternoon. He’s a fucking mean drunk.”
    Roan shook his head as he started the car. “Superconservative? Married?”
    “Oh yeah. The perfectly average wife and two point five kids, and a record of decisions that makes the Christian Right oh so very happy. Unbeknownst to them, he has a thing for cock and a raging form of alcoholism that makes him an insufferable bastard. If you told me he beat his oh so perfect wife and kids, I wouldn’t be surprised.” After a brief pause, Holden added, “I have pictures.”
    “What?”
    “It’s my insurance when I get hired by a guy who is powerful enough to have me railroaded if he gets caught or things otherwise go south. I take pictures of them. If we end our relationship without fuss, the pictures are destroyed and they know nothing about them. If things go wrong, they’re my ace in the hole. I won’t go down alone. They think they can bury me, they’re fucking going with me. And he has lots to lose—not just the wife and kids and support of Rick Santorum, but his entire career. Hiring a prostitute is against the law, you know. The law he’s supposed to be enforcing.” Holden was looking out the passenger window, a muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching, like he was chewing something hard and unpleasant.
    “How many power people do you have on your client list?” Mostly Roan was just curious.
    Holden glanced down at his hand, and his fingers twitched like he was silently counting. Holy shit, he was. “Four at the moment, counting him. But he’s now an ex-client—nobody fucking hits me.”
    “There’s a politician and a preacher, right?” Holden simply nodded. “So who’s the third?”
    Holden was so silent for so long, Roan assumed he wasn’t going to tell him. But finally he said, “Army brass.”
    Considering the sheer amount of military bases in the state, he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Brass, as in…?”
    “Near the top, decorated, a shitload of guys under his command, career almost as old as I am.”
    “Shit.”
    “He’s my oldest client, agewise, but he’s in better shape than most of ’em. And he’s good with discretion, but then he’d have to