Midnight Taxi Tango Read Online Free PDF

He makes a big production of clearing his throat and adjusting the paperwork. Riley and I roll our eyes.
    â€œSection seventeen, subheading six, column B: By order of the New York Council of the Dead, all new recruits, new being defined as having completed Soulcatcher Training Academy within the past twelve months, will hereafter be assigned to work with a senior soulcatcher, or Soulcatcher Prime, who will accompany them on all mission fieldwork as it pertains to and is related to the Council of the Dead activity, and at all times will that senior member of the force be by their (by which we mean the new recruit, as defined earlier in this paragraph) side and within their presence.”
    We’re just staring at him when he looks up from the paper. In true protocol form, this one doesn’t have shit to do with anything that actually happened.
    â€œBut . . .” Riley says.
    â€œThat doesn’t,” I try.
    â€œEven . . .”
    â€œSylvia isn’t even that new, Bart. What the hell does that have to . . . ?”
    He waves a nonchalant hand at us. “Well, we figured what if she had been? Right? Would’ve been a whole lot worse, right? I mean . . . shoot. Think about it.”
    I just shake my head.
    â€œAnyway, what are you guys working on?”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œCarlos. What we doing here, man?”
    It’s a chilly early afternoon in Von King Park. A few kids run around the playground, and some dog walkers stroll past with plastic baggies out, ready to collect the offerings. The sun’s dead center in the sky, and even through the crisp air you can feel the first rumbling of spring announcing itselfto the world: that fresh smell, the warm light. You’d never guess that the four corners around us have been scene to such vicious tragedy for the past week.
    â€œWe checkin’ something,” I say. Riley grunts. On my other side, Baba Eddie removes a cigarette from his pocket, places it between his lips, and pauses, eyes closed, for two breaths before lighting it and taking a luxurious drag. I look down at the wise little santero. “Every time, huh?”
    Baba Eddie smiles. “Otherwise, what’s the fucking point, am I right?”
    â€œHe’s right,” Riley says.
    Baba Eddie deals with ancestors—it’s what he does. At his house, a tall stick with ribbons and bells tied to it leans against one wall, and old black-and-white photos clutter around its base like sacred toadstools. He puts food down for ’em when he cooks and smokes cigars with ’em when he needs to suss out a situation. His clients flock to the botánica in droves to check in with their long-dead relatives or to get a cowrie-shell reading and see what the orishas have planned. He and Riley have known each other since before I came around.
    â€œI do gotta be over at the store pretty soon though,” Baba Eddie points out. “So if there’s something, you know, important you wanted us to see, this would be the time.”
    â€œWord,” Riley says. “I got shit to do too.”
    â€œThe hell you do.” I sit my ass down on a park bench. “This is my next assignment,” I tell them.
    â€œYou gonna be a dog walker? Times’s tough, huh, bro?”
    â€œNo, Riley. There’s some shit going on in this park. I wanna know if either of you are picking up anything.”
    Riley raises an eyebrow. “What kinda shit?”
    â€œDead-people shit, man, what you think?”
    â€œI know that. I mean . . . You know what, lemme have a look-see and find out myself.”
    The three of us sit there quietly for a few moments, Baba Eddie smoking and me and Riley just staring out into thepark. A chilly breeze sweeps across the soccer field behind us and rustles some leaves overhead. A pug strolls past, followed by a yuppie dude typing away on his phone-a-majig. Pigeons come, bob their