Once Were Cops

Once Were Cops Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: Once Were Cops Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ken Bruen
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Hard-Boiled, Noir
spaces
    behind his car. The driver sighed, “How long will
    the prick be, liked, visiting?” Morronni, on his cell
    phone in the backseat, said, “I’m told he’s meeting
    the Irish guy …”
    He checked his gold Rolex, he knew the time to the
    second but he liked to flash the bling, said,
    “At eight, so he’s gonna have to cut the time with
    the spastic short.” The driver, not really giving a
    fuck, asked, “That what she is, huh?” Morronni
    said,
    “The fuck do I know, some kind of retard is all,
    what’s it matter?”
    It didn’t.
    Kebar hated to cut her time, but maybe she
    wouldn’t notice, he’d brought her Hershey’s
    Kisses. Her ritual was always the same, she’d
    count them out.
    “One for Daddy, one for Mamma, one for Konny,”
    her childhood name for him, “and one for little old
    me.”
    Fuck, to see your beautiful thirty-five-year-old
    sister do that, when she should be married with
    two kids and a halfway decent husband, it
    shriveled his heart.
    She had her own room, the room of a five-year-old
    girl, childish pictures on the wall, a comforter on
    the bed with the Care Bears, and a galaxy of dolls
    on the shelf with nursery rhyme books alongside.
    Her hair was in ringlets, her huge brown eyes, not
    a trace of guile in them, and the button nose.
    Barney was on the TV… and she was singing
    along to the theme song.
    Kebar hated that fucking purple dinosaur with all
    his soul.
    He said,
    “How yah doing, hon?”
    She jumped up, threw herself into his arms,
    showering his face with kisses, he wanted to shoot
    some fucker, now.
    He gave her the bag of goodies and she shrieked in
    delight, sat on the bed and said,
    “Come sit beside me, Konny, we’ll count out the
    Kisses.”
    Every time, it wounded him anew. She asked,
    “How is Daddy?’
    The piece of no-good trash who’d beaten her
    senseless so many times, he wanted to go,
    “Dead, thank fuck.”
    Said,
    “He’s working real hard, gonna get you that
    playhouse soon.”
    The fuck worked like one week his whole whining
    life. “And Mammy?” Tell the truth?
    “Loaded before noon, progressed to margaritas
    now and which with any luck will kill the bitch
    soon.”
    Sure, tell that.
    He said,
    “She’s knitting you a scarf for when the winter
    comes and you can come home.” Same goddamn
    lie he’d been telling for years. Lucia asked, a slight
    frown between her innocent eyes, “They sure love
    us, don’t they, Konny?” “You betcha.” And here
    came the same question, every visit, every time,
    “Tell me how much?”
    This might be always the hardest lie of all, he
    stretched his arms as wide as he could, said,
    “To the moon and all the way back again.”
    The words nigh choking him.
    It did the trick though. She gave that radiant smile
    that age would not wither, nor time erase.
    She sang along with the end credits of Barney and
    then yawned, said, “It’s time for my nap, will you
    tuck me in?” He did and kissed her gently on the
    forehead. She was asleep before he reached the
    door.
    He didn’t look back, that one step he could never
    take, seeing her sleeping, her face like every
    wonderful thing that never happened. In the
    corridor, a nurse asked, “Leaving so soon?” He
    was going to go, “The fuck does that mean?” But
    said, “She’s sleeping.”
    And got the hell out of there, checked his watch, he
    might just make the appointed time. We’re exactly
    like you cops. You have a profession—we have a
    profession. Only difference is, you’re on the right
    side of the law, we’re on the wrong.

    —John Dillinger
    SEVEN
    TRAFFIC WAS LIGHT, AND HE YET AGAIN
    FAILED TO SEE the Chevy behind. He was
    pulling into a space near the bar as he saw the kid
    saunter along.
    Watched him for a moment, then opened his glove
    compartment, took out his Glock, put it in the
    waistband of his pants, closed his eyes for a
    moment, then got out, shouted,
    “Yo, Shea, wait up … buddy.”
    If the kid was pleased to see
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