The Last Kind Words Read Online Free PDF Page B

harder.
    Sitting on the hood of a ’66 Mustang, holding in a lungful of Acapulco Gold, Chub wheezed out, “That one, she’ll send you up or set you straight.”
    “Might be worth the risk.”
    “Don’t you believe it.”
    Like most teens who shared an attraction, Kimmy and I danced around each other for weeks before moving in tight enough that we had to say hello.
    First thing she ever said to me was, “My aunt, she manages an organic-health-food-and-vitamins store. Six months ago somebody held her up and cleaned out the register. Was it you?”
    “No. I don’t do armed robbery.”
    “They didn’t get much cash but they made her give up her jewelry. Everything was junk except for a gold pendant given to her by my grandmother. Inside were two tiny photos of my great-grandparents, taken in Hungary back in the thirties. It’s the only thing left of them. It wasn’t just sentimental, you know? It’s more meaningful than that.”
    She wasn’t talking about a pendant but a locket. I nodded. “I think I understand.”
    “Any chance you can help me get it back?”
    A stickup already six months old. Unless the piece was exceptional and really stood out, there wasn’t going to be much of a shot. But I knew all the fences and could probably get a line on the punk snatcher. I looked into Kimmy’s eyes and liked what I saw there. They were almost mean but I could see a little softness tucked deep inside. I wonderedwhat had happened to her to give her such a hard shell so early on and decided I wanted to hang around long enough to find out.
    “If your aunt’s got a photo of herself wearing the locket, give it to me. If not, have her describe it in detail. Any extra information can only help.”
    Kimmy was a step ahead. She handed me a photo. There was a stickum note on the back with all the relevant info, including the name and address of the shop and the date and time of the robbery. “This is it.”
    “Give me four days. If I can’t get a line on it by then there isn’t anything that can be done.”
    She said, “Thank you,” without an ounce of real gratitude. “So … Friday night then?”
    “I’ll pick you up.”
    She frowned, came this close to hitting me with a sneer. “You don’t know where I live.”
    “Sure I do.”
    When she climbed into my car four days later the locket was waiting for her on the dashboard. She checked the tiny photos inside, then stuck it in her pocket.
    “What did it cost you to get it back?”
    “Nothing, the fence owed me one.”
    “Did you talk to the guy who stole it?”
    “No.”
    I couldn’t read the expression on her face in the shadowed interior of the car. I turned up the dash lights.
    “I thought maybe you’d have to fight him for it,” she said.
    “You wanted me to fight him for it, that right?”
    I watched as her lips parted into a grin and then a smile. She kissed the side of my face. It was nothing more than a peck but it started to do its thing.
    I said, “Take off the scarf.”
    “Why?”
    “I want to see your hair.”
    “Why?”
    “Take off the fucking scarf, right?”
    She pulled it down until it was around her neck, then shook out her hair. It was shorter than I’d thought, but the way it framed her face added to everything else I liked about her. My breathing began to grow rough. So did hers. I leaned in and she backed away until the side of her head pressed against the passenger window. I got my hand looped through the scarf and used it to draw her to me. I drove to the dead end at the bottom of the block and then we kissed and she giggled against my chest, and when she bit my neck I growled and we fell into the backseat, tearing each other’s clothes off.
    Twenty minutes later I lit us both cigarettes and asked, “You’re beautiful but you don’t like it—why?”
    “I do. I just never felt that way before.”
    “Before what?”
    “Before you, asshole.”
    Crawling out of the shallows JFK growled while his fur dripped mud and water.