Left on St. Truth-Be-Well Read Online Free PDF

smell in his room, the choking billows of chemicals that had rolled past him when he opened his door, and thought maybe some of it had been the lye, and some of it had been used to cover this up, and that was when he hit his limit.
    “Florida?” he said weakly. “You better get outta my way!”
    “Hear ya,” came the clogged reply, and in about two seconds, Carson was suddenly doing something he’d never done with another man. Was there a special bond that came of standing side by side with someone and blowing chunks?
    Once the romance had passed, Carson gathered his wits. First thing he did was take off the leather jacket and set it carefully aside. Then he took off his T-shirt, wiped his face, and threw it to Florida, who did the same, and when Carson thought he could talk without screaming or anything else undignified, he pulled his cell out of his back pocket and started to do the obvious.
    Florida stopped him with a casual hand. “Man, let me call. I know the local cops. They’ll keep you out of it.”
    Carson raised his eyebrows. He’d never really thought of himself as in it, but then he thought about the fact that he’d just walked into a hotel room, looking for someone he knew, and found a dead guy.
    “Aw, hell.” He hit End on his phone, took six steps left of the barf-o-rama, and sat down on the clean grass. For a couple of seconds, he let himself stare into space and contemplate the ocean. It was nice—the Atlantic Ocean was not as raging as, say, the Pacific or the Caribbean. The waves were full but not huge, and the view was almost as flat as Lake Michigan on a windy day. The sun was off to his right a little, which meant he could squint without his sunglasses and watch as surfers, still in their wetsuits this time of year, rode their bodyboards into the wake. He saw some hot women out there, but Carson wasn’t feeling the least bit libidinous, nope, no way, nosirree.
    “Glen, could you not give me shit for calling you at work? I’m calling you at work because this is work-related.”
    Carson looked over his shoulder to see Florida ambling up to him from wherever he’d gone. He had two bottles of water in his hand, and he gave one to Carson, so he must have visited the vending machines while he called his “contact” in the police department.
    Carson cracked the seal and took a swig, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d given blowjobs for less when something stopped him. He had given blowjobs for less, for one thing. For another, it seemed to trivialize the simple gesture of kindness, and right now, he was shaken enough to admit he just didn’t want to do that.
    Besides, Florida was having himself a “conversation.”
    “Look, I’m saying we went to see this guy’s friend, and there was a body in the place. No, not his friend’s body. He doesn’t know who it is. Yeah, the Bates Parrot Hotel! Anywhere else and they would have found it sooner!”
    He met Carson’s eyes and grimaced, then kept talking. “I don’t know. I’m not an expert on dead people—that would be you. A couple of days, I guess.” He paused and then rolled his eyes. “Because there was lye all over it, that’s why. It sort of absorbed the smell. How do I know that? Because I’ve got a television, asshole! Now are you sending a coroner or what? Yes, I’m sure it’s dead!” He held the phone away from his mouth for a moment, and Carson was relieved to see Florida’s unshakeable calm was actually shaken, stirred, and ventilated. “Because if I have to tell you how I know, I’m going to throw up again. Yes. Throw up. Yes, me. Yes, again.” Florida took a big breath and then spoke reasonably into the telephone. “Glen, disapprove of me some other time. Right now, we’ve got a dead body and a missing buddy. I really think they take top priority, don’t you?”
    There was a terse, stunned reply. “Thank you,” Florida said shortly. “That’s almost civilized.” He hit End Call and then