Black Evening Read Online Free Page B

Enterprises. Oh, the two of them were enterprising all right. But they couldn't bear to talk to each another. They tried to solve that problem by dividing work so MacKenzie ran the office and Dolan went out trouble-shooting. For a time, that did the trick. But after all, they had to meet to make decisions. Although they saw each other less, they saved their tension up and aggravated each other more.
    To make things worse, their wives became good friends. The women were constantly organizing barbecues and swimming parties. Both men didn't dare argue at these get-togethers. If they did, they heard about it later from their wives.
    "I hate that guy. He bugs me at the office, and he makes me sick at parties."
    "You just listen to me," MacKenzie's wife said. "Vickie Dolan's my friend, and I won't have your childish antics ruining that friendship. I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."
    So both men braced their shoulders, staring toward the distance or peering inside their highball glasses (Scotch opposed to Irish whiskey) while their wives exchanged new recipes.
    What finally caused all the trouble was that Dolan started making threats. "I wonder what the government would do if someone let them know about your special way of keeping books?"
    MacKenzie replied, "And what about the sub-spec plumbing and the extra gravel in the concrete? You're the one responsible for that."
    "The judge would simply fine me," Dolan quickly answered. "Now the IRS, that's a different kettle. If the tax man knew you were keeping separate books, he'd lock you in a dungeon where I'd never have to see your ugly puss."
    MacKenzie stared at Dolan and decided there wasn't another choice. He'd tried to do the right thing, but his partner wouldn't sell. His partner even planned to turn him in and take the business for himself. There wasn't any way around it. This was self-defense.
***
    The man was waiting at the monkey cage. A tall, thin, friendly-looking fellow, he was young and blond. He wore a tailored, light-blue jogging suit. He was eating peanuts.
    At the water fountain, leaning down to drink, MacKenzie glanced around. The zoo was crowded. Noon, a sunny weekday. People on their lunchbreaks sat on benches, munching sandwiches. Others strolled among the cages. There were children, mothers, old folks playing checkers. MacKenzie heard tinny music from an organ grinder, muffled conversations, strident chattering and chirping. He was satisfied that no one paid attention to him, so he wiped some water from his mouth and walked over to the monkey cage.
    "Mr. Smith?" MacKenzie said.
    The young man didn't bother turning. He just chewed another peanut, and MacKenzie feared that he was speaking to the wrong man. After all, the zoo was busy. There were other men in jogging suits. Besides, no matter what the newspapers said, it wasn't easy finding someone who would do this kind of work. MacKenzie had spent several evenings haunting low-life bars before he even got a lead. Once, someone had thought he was a cop and threatened to break both his legs. But hundred-dollar bills were good persuaders, and at last he'd had a conversation on a pay phone. He'd have done this job himself, but after all, he needed an alibi, and what was more, he readily admitted, he didn't have the courage.
    Now he'd made a mistake and approached the wrong man. Apparently, the man he was supposed to meet had decided that the meeting was a trap and he wasn't going to show up. As MacKenzie moved to leave, the young, blond fellow turned to him.
    "Hey, just a second, Bob."
    MacKenzie blinked. "Mr. Smith?"
    "Just call me 'John'." The young man's smile was brilliant. He held out the bag. "You want a peanut, Bob?"
    "No, I don't think — "
    "Go on and have a peanut." The young man gestured amiably with the bag.
    MacKenzie took a peanut. As he ate, he didn't taste it.
    "Sure, that's right. Relax, and live a little. You don't mind if I call you 'Bob'?"
    "As long as we can get this settled. You're not