The Accidental Pallbearer Read Online Free PDF

peaceful sleep and a pleasant dream of Detective Cruz, by the insistent ringing of his doorbell.

CHAPTER 6
    Conte opens the door to find Robinson with a bag of groceries and the answer to a question that Conte has not yet asked but is about to ask: “Would I use my key when I knew you’d be drunk asleep with that fuckin’ .357 Magnum in your bedside-table drawer?”
    “Come in, Robby.”
    “Brains blown all over the walls et cetera.”
    “Good morning, Robby.”
    Robinson sets the groceries on the kitchen counter as Conte sits in despair. Robinson says, “You need to eat bland after last night. Very bland. Now get off your ass, sad sack, and put on the coffee while I do the rest, like the mother you’ve been missing ever since you were eight. Cheer up, El, I’m here.”
    “Okay, Robby.”
    “Saw your father as usual for our Sunday brunch at Uncle Henry’s. How a guy looks that good at that age is a fuckin’ mystery. I mean, he’s fuckin’ inhuman. This waitress, early fifties tops, was definitely thinking it over. Actually writes her phone number on the bill. The old guy got a kick out ofit. He’s irresistible on several levels, as Utica, not to mention Albany, has known for several decades. Irresistible except to the son.”
    Conte sips coffee, doesn’t respond.
    “Silvio could pass as your slightly older brother.”
    Conte stares into his cup.
    “This morning, the way you look, your younger brother.”
    Conte puts his cup down, says, “Maybe he could try passing as my father. He should give it a shot.”
    “That’s ridiculous. You bite the hand that feeds.”
    “You certainly don’t.”
    “You bet I don’t. Unlike you, I never had a real father – whoever, wherever the hell he is, he couldn’t shine Silvio’s shoes.”
    “Do you shine my father’s shoes, Robby?”
    “I’ll let that one go, because if I don’t …”
    “Or do you shine each other’s shoes?”
    Robinson places before his friend two eggs, sunny side up, cream of wheat and apple sauce. Conte rises, the aromas are too much, rushes to the bathroom and mainly dry heaves. Hears Robinson shout out, “What you get for that smart mouth of yours.” Conte returns, eats the cream of wheat, leaves the rest. Saying what a fuckin’ shame, too bad I already put away a big brunch, Robinson finishes off the eggs and the applesauce, then goes to the cupboard, returns with two slices of bread, salts and peppers the yolk residue, mops it up, all the while never so much as giving a glance at Conte across the table.
    “Shall we change the subject, El?”
    “When have we ever? Silvio Silvio Silvio.”
    “For once join me and your father at the 11:00 High Mass.”
    “No.”
    “For his sake. Make him happy.”
    “No.”
    “Silvio passes the basket during the Offertory. Silvio dispenses communion elbow-to-elbow with Father Gustavo. He’s your father, El. He loves you.”
    “My father who art not yet in Heaven.”
    “Man, you’re a stone killer.”
    “Good politics, Robby. That’s all it is, a religious show.”
    “Your father
believes
, man.”
    “In himself alone.”
    “You believe, El?”
    “No.”
    “I believe, El.”
    “No you don’t.”
    “Shall we change the subject, El?”
    “Silvio Silvio Silvio.”
    “Did you listen to the call from the coast?”
    “Same as you did.”
    “You were awake while I listened?”
    “No.”
    “How do you know I listened?”
    “You said ‘the coast.’ ”
    “Eliot Conte, Private Eye. Yeah.”
    “A five-year-old would’ve picked up the clue.”
    “When are you going out there to spill her blood?”
    “Get real.”
    “No urge to avenge your daughters?”
    “Get real.”
    “You’re letting this cunt get away with it?”
    “She didn’t do it.”
    “You know this?”
    “Yes.”
    “You can’t know this.”
    Conte says nothing.
    “You’re letting her off, but you’re hot to go after this perfect stranger? This Kinter?”
    “Yes.”
    “What can you do to stop Kinter and