Dig Two Graves, James Harper [e reader pdf best .TXT] 📗

Blair wasn’t being completely honest with him. He’d do his best to keep family history like hers a secret. O’Brien saw the impact of his words in Evan’s face, went in for the kill. He leaned forwards, elbows on the table, down to the nitty gritty style.

‘The long and the short of it is, if you know or can find out her whereabouts, you need to tell us. Before anybody else gets hurt.’

Evan was saved from having to make an immediate decision by the pinging of his phone as a text arrived. O’Brien looked as if he wanted to snatch the phone out of Evan’s hand, throw it against the wall, when Evan pulled it out. Guillory.

‘Sorry. I’ve been waiting for this.’

He opened the message.

Detective Liam O’Brien checks out. Late forties. Receding ginger hair. You owe me.

Evan nodded to himself as he pretended to digest the contents of the message, his gaze seemingly lost in the middle distance, in reality concentrating on the man in front of him. On his full head of wavy dark-brown hair framing his mid-thirties face. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, the smile of a man who’s just received some good news on his lips.

‘Everything okay?’ Not-O’Brien said.

‘Perfect. I’ve got to take a leak and then I’ll make a couple calls, see what I can find out.’

‘No problem.’ The imposter’s face tightened suddenly. ‘Damn. I hate it when that happens.’

‘What?’

The guy was already on his feet, embarrassment on his face.

‘Somebody says they need to take a piss and my bladder starts yelling, me too, me too. Ends up with some guy thinking I want to go with him to sneak a look at his johnson.’

‘You can take a look at mine right here if you really want. The waitress won’t mind.’

They both laughed at that. Trouble was they were already halfway to the men’s room, side by side, Evan trying to picture the layout of it as they went. As far as he remembered there was only one urinal and one toilet stall.

They stopped outside the door. Evan extended his hand towards it.

‘After you.’

The imposter smiled, nice try.

‘No, after you. You’ve drunk more coffee than I have.’

Evan did the translation: I don’t want you pushing me in and running off.

It was the right thing for him to do under the circumstances. Except it backfired. Evan went in first. The bogus detective squeezed into the small room after him, closed the door behind him. Evan went directly to the urinal opposite the door. Not-O’Brien had a dilemma. Stand and wait for Evan to finish which would give the lie to his pretense of having a problem with his bladder. Or go into the empty stall, a tight, confined space on the left wall. Evan made the decision harder for him.

‘I shouldn’t drink so much coffee. Once I start, I can’t ever stop.’

The guy went into the stall, left the door open as he stood in front of the toilet. Evan glanced to the right at the mirror over the sink on the right-hand wall, saw the guy’s back to him, shoulders so tense they almost hummed, legs apart.

An open invitation.

It was a very small room to squeeze a urinal and a toilet stall into. The side of Evan’s leg was directly in line with the middle of the stall’s open door, a distance of not more than two feet. He twisted to the left, stepped six inches closer with his left foot to the open stall door, swung his right foot up between the imposter’s parted legs. Not as easy a shot as from the front, but good enough. There was a loud grunt of pain and surprise as Evan’s foot hit home. Then Evan’s fingers were in his way-too-thick, totally-wrong-color hair, slamming his face into the wall above the toilet, spreading his nose like a blowfly smeared across a window pane. He let go his hair, hit him hard in the right kidney, hoped he pissed blood for a week, then hooked his legs away out from under him. The guy’s face smacked the back edge of the toilet bowl, the satisfying sound of tooth enamel shattering against porcelain filling the stall, a bloody smear down the wall marking the progress of his face. Evan worked his fingers into the guy’s hair again, bounced his forehead off the toilet bowl a couple times, heavy solid clunks, hauled him up by the collar and stuffed his limp body into the gap between the bowl and the side wall. A lead-filled sap hit the floor as Evan wedged him in tighter with his foot. He picked it up, dropped it into his own pocket, pulled out his phone and took a photo.

If only every visit to the men’s room was as satisfying, left him feeling as refreshed. He just hoped Guillory had been right about the hair and age.

He hesitated outside the door. To his right was the exit to the back alley. To the left the way they’d come from the dining area. There’d been four of them in the Jerusalem the other night, including the bogus detective who’d stayed on the sidelines. He wouldn’t be working alone today. If nothing else, there’d be a man covering the back alley.

He cracked the back door open a couple inches. Ten feet away a man was standing with his back to him. Hands thrust into his pockets, trying hard to not look like a man covering a back door. One man’s back looks a lot like any other’s but this one had a familiar feel to it. Last time he’d seen it, it was heading for the Jerusalem Tavern’s door after an abortive knife attack. Evan’s head ached with the memory of their collision.

He put his mouth to the opening, kicked the door loudly and hissed into the alley at the same time, a low urgent command.

‘Get in here!’

The guy startled, spun around. By the time he came through the door, Evan was behind it. He