SS 18: Shark Skin Suite: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

shoulder, flinching every time a car backfires, running out the back door whenever there’s a knock at the front, carrying bags of marbles to throw on the sidewalk in the event of a chase? Actually, I used to throw the marbles in general as a preventive measure, but that just created chases. Not to mention constantly escaping through Chinese kitchens with crashing food trays and Cantonese hysterics. Personally I couldn’t live any other way, but are you prepared to pull all that chow mein out of your hair?” Serge idly grabbed the TV remote and clicked the set on. Brook’s face filled the screen. He clicked it off.
    She was crying now. “I—I—I don’t know what to do.”
    “What you do is let me think for both of us from now on.” Serge took a seat next to Brook and held her hand. “Right now I need you to compose yourself and pay attention. Can you do that?”
    She wiped her eyes and nodded.
    “Okay, the only way this will work is if I kidnapped you. Anything they ask about, pin it all on me. Tell them everything even if I didn’t do it. Agree to testify.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    “You have to,” said Serge. “When you turn yourself in, there are only two untasty items on the menu: They’ll either think you started out as a kidnap victim but I brainwashed you into becoming an accomplice. Or they might actually believe your story. But they’ll still bluff as leverage for details to track me down.”
    “Then what do I do?”
    “Give them details.”
    “Make them up?”
    “No, tell the truth.” Serge stood and stretched. “The point is you have to convince them, and they have this annoying way of figuring out when you’re lying. So the more candid you are about me, the more it will buttress our kidnapping charade. Tell them everything: my routines, frequent haunts, jaunty attire, charismatic quirks, love of country, disdain for eleven items in the express lane, passion for folding road maps back correctly. Just stick to the story that I had a gun on you the whole time.”
    “But details will help them capture you.”
    “I can take care of myself.” Serge checked his wallet for cash reserves. “Then it’s settled.”
    “What about your car?”
    “It’s a memory. We have to wait while Faber gets me another ride with clean plates and retrieves our luggage from the Southern Cross. Man, he’s going to hold this over my head so long it’s almost not worth it.” He stopped and tapped his chin. “But I have the oddest feeling I’m forgetting something. It’s been nagging me all day. What could it possibly be?”
    “Serge,” said Brook. “Where’s Coleman?”

 
    Chapter FIVE
    KEY WEST
    A nother anonymous fleabag motel on Truman Avenue. And what do we have behind door number three?
    The third door flew open. A naked man ran across the parking lot with clothes bunched in his arms and a spiked dog collar around his neck.
    Back in the doorway stood a curvaceous woman with an irrepressible mane of fiery red hair. A shiny Smith & Wesson .38 pistol gripped loosely in her left hand. “Come back! It was just role-playing!”
    The fleeing man never broke stride through honking traffic. “You’re a crazy bitch!”
    The woman frowned and closed the door. She clicked on the TV. An episode of Desperate Housewives was interrupted by breaking news. Serge’s face filled the screen.
    “Cocksucker!”
    A .38 bullet blasted the picture tube in a shower of glass and sparks. She casually stuck the gun in her purse and headed out the door.
    Brakes screeched on Truman Avenue. A pickup rear-ended a Miata. Frat boys on mopeds shouted propositions. Guys on bicycles turned around and doubled back.
    The woman ignored them all and continued down the sidewalk in the kind of chin-up, aggressively sexual strut that made men forget the fear of death and glance over with their wives present.
    She reached the entrance of a corner bar with all the windows open and wooden ceiling fans set on lazy.
    A bartender happened