Unquiet Dreams Read Online Free PDF

wanted that certainty.
    But even the lure of that obliviating bliss was not enough to distract him for long. Where was the damned Frenchman? The sun sank lower and the sky bruised and still he did not appear. Riley resisted another snort as long as he could, rightly figuring it would not improve his state of mind, but he had to do something and it was that or the gun, and another wrap seemed like the best thing and not too bothersome, but it did make him a bit jittery for sure and he caressed the snubnose in his pocket and wondered how it spoke.
    When the froggy arrived Riley found himself feeling a bit twitchy. The man looked irritatingly foreign to his eyes, with a white linen jacket that spoke of a lifestyle difficult to maintain and privilege Riley couldn't much imagine. "Lucky Luke?"
    "Yes." The man looked at him with his mouth pursed in vague disapproval.
    "I'm here for Una's merch." Riley's thumb stroked the handle of the gun in his pocket and its curve made him shiver.
    "Where is the money?"
    Riley blinked. "You've already been paid." Had to be true: Una would never trust him with that much cabbage.
    The Frenchman broke into an unexpected grin. "Oh yes, that is correct. I am forgetting. So many transactions, you understand." He opened his palms to show no harm meant.
    "You're a saviour of the European market," Riley muttered.
    This made the geezer laugh. "I am an entrepreneur!" Lucky Luke continued chuckling as he stepped over to the side of the boat. With practiced ease he flipped down a small ladder and stepped onto its rungs. "Climb aboard, sailor."
    Riley looked at the ladder with doubt and awkwardly lifted his foot to heft himself up the ladder. His worn trainers slipped on the cold metal, leaving him flailing as he hurled over the side of the yacht. His landing provoked further laughter from Lucky Luke who moved gracefully across the swaying craft to disappear into its depths. Riley shook his head, resisted the temptation to snort another lifter and followed the Frenchman below.
    "Cosy, no?"
    Riley glanced around the tiny cabin. Everywhere the surfaces gleamed whether brass or wood. "It's all right. Who's that?"
    They both turned to regard a black and white photo of stunning beauty that hung over the compact bed. "That is my Julia. Five years gone. I miss her so." Lucky Luke struck his chest with a closed fist.
    "Dead?" As soon as the word left his lips Riley thought, eejit, of course she's dead . "How'd it happen?"
    "Carcinoma." He stretched the word out as if savouring the enemy's name.
    "It's a crying shame, a woman that beautiful," Riley agreed, though his foot was beginning to tap. There was a tickle in his throat and an itch in his skull that inclined him toward thoughts of the Kings Head and his reward. "So have you got it?"
    Lucky Luke shook his head as if to clear away the haunting beauty and turned to the wee desk beside the bed. "You will forgive my sentimentality," he said as he drew out the top drawer. "And my lack of trust," he added, lifting a Glock in one hand and a small black velvet bag in the other, "But once I hand these over there's no reason—"
    Riley couldn't quite understand the physics of the moment. He ran the scene over and over again in his head as he stumbled back along the docks and reeled toward Middle Street. Lucky Luke hadn't meant to shoot him, he was just protecting himself. The Glock was insurance, not aggression. Riley blamed the damned jig the speed blossomed in his brain. The curve of the snubnose seduced his fingers, that was it. No one was more surprised to see the hole in Lucky Luke's chest than himself.
    Except perhaps Luke: he gave Riley a baleful look, muttered something incomprehensible in French and then slumped to the floor.
    He didn't notice how his hands shook until he gingerly probed his rib cage. Feckin' brass! Riley glared around the cabin. He spotted a scarf negligently tossed over the lamp. It had an elegant print of huntsmen but it would slow the flow of