The Mike Murphy Files and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

the eyes. He staggered back, hollering and pawing at his face. I kicked him in the privates, as ogres are reasonably similar to humans in that regard. He hollered some more. Stumbled around and tripped over the crane operator seat. He got a face full of the controls, which didn’t seem to improve his looks. But the impact must have also hit a pretty important button. The crane whirred. Cables grated on flywheels. Maura had just time enough to glare at me before she went tumbling down into the water. I gave Lolo another kick and sent him over the side after her. I looked down at the water. There was no sign of life. Ogres don’t swim well. It’s something to do with the stone content in their bones. The waves slapped against the pilings below. The wheelchair creaked behind me.
    “I wasn’t looking for trouble, Mr. Six-Fingers,” I said, turning. “I don’t need any more than I have. It’s a hard thing you’ve done, going after Maura. You’ve done enough, I think.”
    An invisible hand grabbed my throat. He stared at me, motionless, from across the room.
    “Bygones can be bygones,” I said. Sweat beaded on my forehead and trickled down.
    “Grind your bones,” he whispered, his voice thin. “Grind ‘em for bread.” His eyes did not blink. Something old and evil moved behind them. Squirmed and licked its lips. The grip on my throat tightened. My vision started to fade on the edge of my sight.
    “I wouldn’t do that.” I could barely manage the words.
    “No?” His head cocked to one side. The grip on my throat loosened a fraction.
    “You wouldn’t want Father Dimitri from Saint Peter’s down here, praying for your soul. I went to mass before I came here. Had a quick chat with him. Gave him five hundred bucks for local outreach. Five nice, crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. He’s quite a stubborn man. He’s got a whole load of old biddies at his church ready to knock on your door, just dripping with holy water and eager for your soul. Lots of old biddies. You'll find 'em a tougher proposition than your politicians and union thugs.”
    He stared at me, silent, his eyes measuring my words. Then, abruptly, the grip on my throat constricted. I gagged. Choked. And the hand threw me across the room. I landed in a tumble of limbs, but sucking down air, grateful and released. The old thing in the wheelchair glared at me like he wanted to slice me up into prosciutto. I walked away, my scalp crawling. My neck ached, but that was okay. There were worse things.
    The taxicab was still parked at the end of the dock. The cabbie sat on the hood, smoking a cigarette.
    “Why’d you wait?” I said.
    “I have good feeling about you,” he said. “We go church together, we drive together, we American together. We like family.”
    “No more fifty-dollar handouts, pal.”
    “Ah, well.” He shrugged. “It was good while it last. Where you want go?”
    “Lover’s Point. Down by the water.”
    It was a quick drive, just a mile or so north from the docks. Maura loved the place. A grassy slope reaching down to the rocks and a beach tucked away below the point.
    “Wait here,” I said.
    The cabbie nodded and lit another cigarette. I took off my coat, walked down to the beach, and sat on a rock. The waves curled in to the sand. I glanced around. There was no one in sight. A seal popped up its head from the water and regarded me with suspicion. It drifted closer until it surfed a wave into the beach. With a wriggle that flipped spray every which way like a dog, the seal turned into Maura. A naked Maura. A naked, angry Maura.
    “You jerk!” she shouted.
    “Here,” I said. “You can wear my coat.”
    She slapped me, but her heart wasn’t in it. The anger was already going out of her like the water dripping off her skin.
    “I could see you trying not to laugh,” she growled. “Playing the fool with those wretched ogres.”
    “I could’ve been hurt,” I pointed out mildly. “He had a large knife.”
    “Would’ve