Sleeping Policemen Read Online Free PDF Page B

Sue as well. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face and considered climbing back under the blankets with her; then her mouth popped open and a raucous snore escaped. He got out of bed, instead, and dressed hurriedly. In the kitchen corner of the apartment, he put on a pot of coffee and took a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. As he scrambled the eggs and watched Sue beginning to stir, he mulled over the ideas that had formed in the void between consciousness and dreams.
    If the dead man had ten thousand dollars on him, what treasures might the locker hold? Possibilities from half a dozen cheap paperbacks suggested themselves. Drugs or guns. Hell, the Maltese Falcon, for all he knew. What he kept imagining, though, was the bounty of fist-sized rolls of hundred dollar bills a bus station locker could hold. The thought made the blood roar in his ears, made the dream-bloated visage of the dead guy waver and nearly disappear. He saw the rest of his life riding out under the stately gaze of Ben Franklin.
    â€œWhat are you grinning about?”
    Sue had slipped out of bed and into a denim shirt he’d left balled up on the floor. She leaned against the kitchen table, sleepy-eyed, sheet wrinkles etched across one cheek.
    â€œSit,” Nick said, dividing the eggs between two plates. As they ate breakfast, he told her again about the key, about the treasures a bus station locker might contain. He ended by saying, “What harm could a look do?”
    Sue took a couple of slow bites. “You think that’s wise, Nicky? Are you sure you want to get more tangled up in this thing?”
    He stared at her, a tiny ember of anger flaring inside him. “You think I’m doing this just for myself? It’s not just my way out. This could be our solution, Sue. We could be together. Don’t you want that?”
    â€œCome on, Nick. That’s not fair.” She thrust her plate away and stared at him. Then: “What if there’s nothing there?”
    â€œThen no harm done. All we’ve wasted is a little time and gas.”
    They sipped their coffee, silence spinning out around them. Nick watched a cockroach dart from under the stove and disappear beneath the refrigerator. When he looked back at Sue, he recognized the pensive expression on her face: the fraught gaze of a child caught in the shadow of the Tilt-a-Whirl—equal parts terror and speed—her eyes filled with fear and longing, money for a ticket clutched uncertainly in her grubby little fingers.
    â€œWhich station?”
    â€œKnoxville. Says so right on the key.” Nick stabbed at the last of his eggs. “I’m betting this guy dumped something there, planning to go back later.”
    â€œI don’t know, Nick.” She got up from the table and dumped her plate into the sink. She picked up her clothes and stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
    Nick stacked the rest of the dishes in the sink and ran water over them. Just as Sue stepped out of the bathroom, a knock on the front door reverberated through the room, freezing them both in mid-step. They looked at each other. Sue, her eyes wide, mouthed You expecting someone? Nick shook his head. He glanced at the alarm clock. 11:45. Finney and Tuck would still be in bed. A rush of fear swept through him, the same one that had tumbled him over the trash can when Sue had spoken in the dark. His arms again felt the sacklike weight of the dead man.
    â€œWho is it?”
    â€œState police, sir. Can you open the door for a couple questions?”
    â€œJust a minute.” Nick shot another look at Sue and walked across the room on watery legs.
    Nick opened the door—and found his sight filled with five stark letters: EVANS. Startled, seeking balance, he stepped back, taking in the man behind the nametag, this sudden Evans. He was huge, seeming to burst out of his Tennessee Highway Patrol uniform, seeming to fill the small, dark hallway. His gut