The Stolen Read Online Free PDF

old folks are. Rather die at the roots than reach for a vine. You know, even if the client’s only booked for a one-way trip, I’ll usually offer to hang around in case they decide they need a ride back to wherever. Hobbs, though, man, you could offer me double the rate and I would have jetted faster than one of them Kenyan marathon runners. Not the kind of place you want to be sitting in a car alone at night. Or anytime, really.”
    I eyed those dice tattoos. Wondered what it took to scare a man who wasn’t afraid to get ink shot into his neck with a needle.
    “I hear the town is different now,” I said. “A lot’s changed in five years.”
    “New coat of paint, same cracked wood underneath,” Stavros said. “You don’t start from the ground up, poison’s still gonna be there. Anyway, you’re booked for a return trip, right? I’m sure you’ll be fine, long as you’re finished before the sun goes down. The dealers and hoods come out thinking you’re the po-lice.”
    “I really think you’re wrong,” I said, my voice trying to convince me more than Stavros. “Anyway, when we get there, I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much about being alone. If I know the press, they’ll be camped out at this house like ants at a picnic.”
    “That so? Where exactly you headed?”
    “Interview,” I said. “A kid.”
    “Not that kid who got kidnapped. Daniel something, right?”
    “Daniel Linwood, yeah.”
    “Hot damn, I’ve been reading about that! Awful stuff. I mean great he came back, but I got a six-year-old and I’d just about tear the earth apart if she ever went missing. Those poor parents. Can’t even imagine.”
    “Better you don’t.”
    We merged onto 287, then headed north on Route 9, driving past a wide white billboard announcing our entry into the town limits.
    Hobbs County was covered in lush green foliage, the summer sun shining golden through the thick leaves. Trees bracketed sleepy homes, supported by elegant marble columns. I lowered the window and could hear running water from a nearby stream. This was New York, but not the big city you read about in newspapers. It was the kind of place where you bought homemade preserves and knew everybody’s name. Over the past few years, though, the names got wealthier, the jams more expensive. Shelly Linwood didn’t work. I wondered how the Linwoods were able to afford the newfound royalty of Hobbs County. And whether Daniel had come back to any sort of recognizable life.
    We wound our way to Eaglemont Terrace, threading down Main Street. All the stores were open, Hobbs residents walking small, freshly groomed dogs while carrying bags from the town’s boutique shops. Lots of cell phones and BlackBerries. Pretty much the same ratio of technology to people as NYC.
    It was just before noon. I had two hours before the interview was scheduled to begin. As we turned onto Woodthrush Court, I made out a row of cars and vans clogging the street, metal lodged in an artery. The main cluster looked to be centered around one house, no doubt the Linwood residence. I didn’t want to make any sort of grand entrance, and once the other reporters saw me, they wouldn’t leave me alone. They knew I had the exclusive, and they wouldn’t make my job any easier.
    “Do me a favor, stop here,” I said to Stavros. The Greek man obliged, eased on the brakes until we were stopped a few blocks down from the mess.
    “You want to hang out here? I can put the radio on, even got a few CDs in the glove. You like The Police?”
    “Eh. Sting never really did it for me. Just want to walk around the neighborhood for a few minutes. Get a sense of the place.”
    “Your time,” Stavros said. “Tell you something, it might have been a few years ago and my memory’s as soft as my dick, but this sure ain’t the same town I drove through a while back.”
    “Hold that thought,” I said to Stavros, unbuckling my seat belt. “The last one, not the one about your…never