The Axeman's Jazz (Skip Langdon Mystery Series #2) (The Skip Langdon Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

A six has a strong sense of duty and responsibility. Is that you?”
    Sonny felt a twinge of guilt. “Usually, I guess.”
    “You could be a banker, maybe, or a musician; or a doctor or lawyer.”
    Sonny’s head was awhirl. There was something wonderfully elfish about this woman, with her tangle of black curls, full breasts, and tiny waist. She might be twice his age, but she looked like a teenager, seemed more like the sister he’d never had. He was on the verge of asking, in envy, how she could put aside her reason, simply dive in and play such charming games with herself, when it occurred to him the question might be rude. He didn’t know exactly how, but he knew there were things about her he didn’t understand. He had a feeling answers wouldn’t necessarily come from direct questions.
    He wanted to know more, but he felt like a kid around her, didn’t have a clue how to keep her with him.
    “What name do you want?”
    “Me?”
    “Besides Sonny?”
    “I don’t know. Arthur, maybe.”
    “Because of the king?”
    He nodded. How had she known that?
    “What else? You need a backup.”
    “How about Jean-Paul?”
    “Jean-Paul?” She laughed, a pixie laugh. “Arthur was easy. Why Jean-Paul?”
    “From Jean-Paul Belmondo.”
    “Ah, the movie star. You don’t look old enough to remember him.”
    He was offended—he’d hoped she wouldn’t mention age. “You don’t have to be old to see old movies.”
    “Why do you want his name?”
    “I don’t know. I like his style … something about his eyes.”
    “Yeah. Like he could get away with anything.” She looked straight at him and they laughed, together, in sync. She was definitely flirting.
    He felt strangely powerful. He, Sonny Gerard, had done something to win this stunning woman’s attention. He couldn’t think what. How could he keep it?
    She picked up her quarters. “I’ll see which one works.”
    “Which-uh—what?”
    “I’ll look them up.”
    It was only after she was gone that he realized that she was going to analyze the names he’d picked according to that crazy system of hers. It made him laugh.
    The encounter had done more for him than his whole bar-as-window system ever had before. He felt strong, fresh, masculine—like a man, not the terrified boy he felt like most of the time, the boy who was the truth he struggled so hard to conceal.
    It wasn’t working either. Someone else knew, and she was trying hard to help him, but he hated it that she knew, that he was so transparent. He felt as if Di didn’t see him that way.
    Damn! He didn’t know her last name. How could he see her again?
    Forget it, Sonny, he told himself. No way you’re going to see her again. You’re just drunk. Go home.
    * * *
     
    “Hi, Missy.”
    She looked like every girl in Georgia. Blond. So many of them here were dark, like everyone in New York and Pennsylvania. This one had almost certainly been head cheerleader in high school, and probably homecoming queen, had gone on to pledge some good sorority at LSU and now probably worked as a teacher or maybe a clothing-store clerk. Just something until she got married.
    A piece of fluff—slender, blue-eyed, perfect WASP features. If there had been one single thing about her that was different, that set her apart from a million other young women, she could have been a TV star; probably she wouldn’t make it in movies, you had to have talent for that. But even for TV she needed a beauty mark or something.
    She said, “I’m going through something really hard right now. I’m trying to let go. Well, not let go, exactly, just loosen my grip, sort of.
    “I’m trying not to be too smothering, not to hang on too hard.”
    Her voice was like a flower petal, her perfect face marred by her earnestness. “I’m trying to recognize the fact that not everyone needs as much attention as I do, and that maybe I don’t really need it myself. But I’m not really there yet. I’m still fighting it. I’ve been with the