Revolver Read Online Free PDF

Avenue. Philadelphia, don’t ever change.
    Everyone scarfs down roast beef sandwiches, ziti, and coleslaw. Most of the kids run around like maniacs, knocking over chairs and screaming so piercingly that it cuts through Audrey’s fine, strong buzz.
    Audrey doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she gravitates to Grandma Rose, who sits with some of her cousins. Audrey can remember none of their names; she prays they don’t talk to her.
    “Hey, Grandma.”
    Rose’s eyes take a second or two to focus on Audrey. Every sensory organ seems to be failing her these days. But soon she zeroes in.
    “Oh, Audrey. You got fat.”
    Audrey wonders if any court of law would convict her for punching her grandmother in the side of the head right now.
    “Are you coming back home now?” Grandma Rose asks. “I don’t know why you had to move to Texas in the first place.”
    “It’s a good school,” Audrey lies, not wanting to speak truth: Because I had to get away from all you people.
    “Aren’t there good schools here?”
    In a family of cops it’s not difficult to feel like the local criminal. Audrey is the youngest sibling by a good stretch of years—and the only adopted child. They refer to her as Hot Mess Express. Don’t think she doesn’t hear them.
    It was a mistake to mix among the civilians, Audrey thinks. Truth is, she’d feel more comfortable mixing with the Wildeys. Though they’d probably look at her and gently suggest she return to her own crazy-ass family.
    Nowhere else to go, Audrey walks up to the portraits of the fallen cops, which are printed on cardboard and mounted on two easels positioned next to each other, as if they’re having an eternal gab session in the afterlife.
    The photos are their police identification photos, stark black-and-white, blown up to poster size.
    Grandpop Stan was a wide-jawed Polish-American guy with deep-set eyes. There’s a lot of hurt in those eyes. He’s a WWII vet, orphan, cop. He’s seen some shit.
    His partner Wildey, meanwhile, is a round-cheeked African-American with the faintest glimmer of a smile on his face, as if the camera clicked just as he heard a very funny joke and he was about to explode into a laugh.
    “Freaky, huh?” a voice says.
    Audrey glances over at the black cop standing next to her, looking at the portraits, too. Ah—it’s funny Lieutenant Ben from the ceremony. Mr. Jawn up in here. Turns out he’s a dead ringer (excuse the expression) for his grandfather.
    “You look just like him,” Audrey says.
    “I keep hearing that,” the cop says. “Not sure I see it, aside from the uniform and skin color. I’ve got a lot of my mama in me.”
    “Why did you say this was weird, then?”
    Ben Wildey smiles.
    “The two of us here, you know. Couple of grandkids who never met their grandfathers. I know I look like an old man, but my grandpop George was already gone sixteen years before I showed up. Just weird, all this to-do”—Ben waves his hand around—“for guys we never met.”
    He extends a hand, introduces himself. “You’re the baby daughter, right? I hear you’re on the job, too.”
    “No, I’m not police. I’m still in school.”
    “But forensics, right?”
    “Yeah. Hopefully.”
    “Cool.”
    They stand there, looking at their dead grandfathers.
    “Well,” Ben says, “maybe when you get your degree, you can come back home and finally solve this thing.”
    Audrey turns to look at Ben Wildey.
    “Wait…what?”

Stan Meets George
    August 28–30, 1964
    The whole thing started because a car at Twenty-Second and Columbia refused to move.
    Husband is standing outside the car, pleading with his wife to pull the damn car over already. But wife is behind the wheel and she is not budging. Gunning the accelerator and the brake at the same time. Come on, the husband yells. Wife says Uh-uh, you go and fuck yourself . They’ve both had more than a few.
    Soon drivers are lined up behind them pounding fists into horns. BLAAAAARP .
    It’s