Memoria Read Online Free PDF

him. And you couldn't change your identity as fast and as easy as your memories. He could give them a false name pretending to be a migrant wishing to go legal, but this wouldn't work, either, because he didn't have an electronic bracelet. No, Memoria was of no help to him. He had to deal with it himself.
    He saw a plaque with the name of the street. It took him a moment to find his bearings. This was Brooklyn. Why had the cops taken him so far from his home? Had they anticipated the assault? Or could they have known about Kathleen all along and just played with him to make sure he'd been involved?
    He walked faster. Mike's bar had to be about a block away. Mike owed him two hundred bucks since their student days when he'd put it in his head that he didn't want to be a lawyer any more. Frank had lent it to him to help get Mike's little business going.
    Mike had been a better student, with the potential of landing the assistant city attorney's job, but he'd chosen an entirely different walk of life. Apparently, there'd been an incident of some kind which had made the then-intern Mike change his mind.
    Frank turned the corner, walked to the next intersection and turned again into a street parallel to the one with the Memoria promotion screen. A bolt of lightning flashed, drowning the buildings in white dazzle. A clap of thunder followed. Large raindrops hit the sidewalk and rattled on windowsills and concrete overhangs, covering window panes with thick sidelong rivulets of watery bubbles.
    Frank ran the length of the last three buildings hoping Mike would be in. His friend had even promised Frank the bar's discount card once but had never kept his promise.
    He crossed yet another street and wiped the water from his face, cursing himself for his simple-mindedness. What was the point in trying to second-guess his friend's motives? It was one thing calling on an old friend to see if he could pay back an old debt; and quite another when half the city knew Frank had murdered the heiress to the Baker empire . Knowing it, Mike could do all kind s of funny little things. Frank had to be on his guard . Let's just hope that the former acting assistant city attorney hadn't forgotten Mike's defending him from a bunch of hoods who tried to put the screws on him.
    The attack had been behind Mike's decision to quit law. But then it had also secured their friendship. They used to get together in Mike's bar to have a chat about their studies over a glass of Bourbon.
    Frank thought better than to use the front entrance. He traced the building, entered an inner court, had a quick look around and opened the back door.
    Mike employed a couple of very decent cooks and several waiters — all migrants, nine in total. But now his kitchen stood empty. Frank pushed the serving door and opened it a crack.
    Mike sat straddling a bar stool by the door watching the TV news. The only three patrons sat at the far table over their beers and pistachio nuts. Here, too, the waiters were nowhere to be seen.
    How weird. Frank crouched and sneaked behind the bar, lowering his body onto the floor.
    Mike sensed and turned around. His eyes rounded. He stared at his friend, unable to speak. Frank whispered that he hadn't killed Kathleen Baker and used his teeth to pull off the scrap of fabric from his cuffed hands.
    "I'm up to my ears in shit because of this relationship. All I need are some dry clothes," he added in a low voice. " Some kind of hat would be good, and a few bucks, too. Then I'll be on my way."
    Mike pursed his lips. His eyes scanned the bar. He reached for a bottle of Bourbon, picked a tumbler off the rack, then reconsidered and put it all back.
    "Follow me," he nodded.
    The other end of the bar joined a slightly protruding wall that partially concealed the barman from customers' prying eyes. In the wall was a door to a small utility room, lined with shelf units. Mike waited as Frank crawled into the room on all fours, hiding from the customers. Mike