Nerve Damage Read Online Free PDF Page B

Skippy.
    â€œI’m having some,” Roy said. He went into the kitchen, reheated coffee, poured two cups. Back in the big room, Skippy was near the computer.
    â€œFrozen, huh?” he said.
    â€œHappens all the time,” said Roy. “I just unplug and replug.”
    â€œUm,” said Skippy. “Mind if I see if maybe I can…”
    â€œAll yours,” said Roy.
    Roy pulled up a chair near Delia . Skippy tapped away at the keyboard. The room darkened. It was peaceful, just the three of them, a family by no one’s definition, but that kind of peaceful just the same.
    â€œAll set, Mr. Valois.”
    Roy got up, his chest a little sore now, and went to the computer.
    â€œShouldn’t happen again,” Skippy said. “And I’ve cleaned up your desktop.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œWant free phone service?”
    â€œFree phone service?”
    â€œI could write a little program, hook you up.”
    â€œWould it be legal?” Roy said.
    Skippy turned to him, greasy hair in his eyes. “Like how do you mean, Mr. Valois?”
    â€œYou can call me Roy,” Roy said.
    â€œOkay, Mr…. um,” said Skippy.
    Â 
    Turk McKenny was the goalie for the Thongs, and also Roy’s lawyer. He had an office on the top floor of a white house overlooking the green. Roy could see part of Neanderthal Number Nineteen through the window.
    â€œHell of a game, Roy,” Turk said.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œShoulda seen the look on Normie’s face when you stole the puck.”
    â€œA fluke.”
    â€œI don’t know,” Turk said. “Raised your game a notch or two lately. What’s up with that?”
    â€œThat will you’ve been bugging me about,” Roy said.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œI’d like to get it drawn up.”
    Turk took his feet—he wore Shetland-lined suede slippers—off the desk.
    â€œNow,” said Roy, “if possible.”
    Turk slid a notepad closer, put on half-glasses. “We can certainly get started,” he said. His head tilted, eyes peering over the rims. “Anything special get you motivated?”
    â€œThe usual,” Roy said. Which was pretty funny—so funny, in fact, that Roy started laughing. For a moment or two he wondered if he’d be able to stop. Then out of nowhere the cough erupted, swallowing the laughter, taking over completely. Roy lurched from the room, hand over his mouth, and hurried down the hall to the bathroom. He coughed over the sink. No blood this time, only a little yellowish liquid, the consistency of raw egg white. Egg white instead of blood: Good sign or bad? How could it be bad? Was there hope? Always .
    Roy went back to Turk’s office. Turk was hovering by the door.
    â€œWhat is it, Roy? What’s going on?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œCome on.”
    Roy shook his head.
    â€œIt’s me,” Turk said.
    Roy was silent.
    â€œAnd if that’s not enough,” Turk said, “at least let me do my job.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Roy said; the sound of his voice was rough and ragged.
    â€œI’m your lawyer,” Turk said. “Don’t keep me in the dark.”
    They were friends, went back a long way: had played against each other in college—Turk a four-year starter in net for Dartmouth—and even before that in a high school tournament final in the old Boston Garden. Delia had liked him, too: Turk had been a pallbearer at her funeral. And Turk was his lawyer, the only lawyer he’d ever had, looking over everything—taxes, investments, contracts, including the one with Krishna. Roy took a deep breath, aware at the same time that it wasn’t as deep as his normal deep breaths, not nearly.
    â€œTotally confidential?” he said.
    â€œGoes without saying,” Turk said. “But I’ll say it anyway.”
    Someone had to know. Otherwise: potential chaos. So, standing right there by the