Book of Souls by Glenn Cooper Read Online Free Page A

lobby and peered at the empty vestibule. Before he could jump onto the street for a look-about, he saw a business card stuck at eye level onto the lobby door with a piece of tape. THE 2027 CLUB. HENRY SPENCE, PRESIDENT. And a phone number with a 702 area code. Las Vegas. There was a handwritten note in small block letters: Mr. Piper, Please call me immediately.
    2027.
    The date made him suck air through his teeth.
    He pushed the door open. Outside, it was cool and dark, a few men and women on the sidewalks bundled up against the chill, walking purposefully, the way people did in this residential neighborhood. There was no one loitering and no bus.
    His mobile phone was in his pocket, where he kept it during the day to trade baby calls with Nancy. He entered the number.
    “Hello, Mr. Piper.” The voice was upbeat, borderline jocular.
    “Who is this?” Will asked.
    “It’s Henry Spence. From the motor home. Thanks for returning my message so promptly.”
    “What do you want?”
    “I want to talk to you.”
    “About what?”
    “About 2027 and other topics.”
    “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Will was fast-walking to the corner to see if he could spot the bus.
    “I hate to be clichéd, Mr. Piper, but this is urgent, a life-and-death matter.”
    “Whose death?”
    “Mine. I have ten days to live. Please grant a soon-to-be-dead man’s wish and speak to me.”
     
     
    WILL WAITED UNTIL his daughter had left, the dishes were done, and his wife and son were asleep before he slipped out of the apartment to rendezvous with the man on the bus.
    He zipped his bomber jacket to his throat, stuffed his hands into his jeans for warmth, and paced back and forth, second-guessing the wisdom of humoring this Henry Spence fellow. Out of an abundance of caution, he had slung his holster over his shoulder and was getting reacquainted with the weight of steel over his heart. The sidewalk was empty and dark, and despite scattered traffic, he felt alone and vulnerable. A sudden siren from an ambulance navigating toward Bellevue Hospital startled him and he could feel the butt of the gun tight against his jacket lining, heaving with his accelerated breathing.
    Just as he was about to bag the whole thing, the bus arrived and slowed to a halt, its air brakes sighing. The passenger door opened with an hydraulic whoosh, and Will found himself staring at a bushy face high in the driver’s seat.
    “Good evening, Mr. Piper,” the driver called down.
    There was a shadow of activity from the rear.
    “That’s just Kenyon. He’s harmless. Come on board.”
    Will climbed up, stood next to the passenger seat, and tried to get a snapshot of the situation. It was a habit from the old days. He liked to swoop onto a new crime scene and suck it all in like a giant vacuum cleaner, trying to see everything at once.
    There were two men, the heavyset driver and a beanpole bracing himself against the kitchen counter midway up the rig. The driver, who seemed to be in his sixties, had the physique of a man who could fill a Santa suit without padding. He had a generous beard the color of squirrel fur, which spilled onto a Pendleton shirt and lay inanimate between a set of brown suspenders. He had a full head of gray-white hair, long enough for a ponytail, but he allowed it to flow over his collar. His skin tone was blotchy and slapped-cheek, his eyes tired and cloudy. But crinkle lines radiating from his eyes suggested a bygone sprightliness.
    Then there were his appliances. Pale green plastic tubes wrapped around his neck and plunged into his nostrils through prongs. The tubing snaked down his side and plugged into an ivory white box, which was softly chugging at his feet. The man was on oxygen.
    The other fellow, Kenyon, was also in his sixties. He was mostly skin and bones wrapped in a buttoned-up sweater. He was tall, awkward in posture, conservative in manner, clean-cut with crisply parted hair, jaw-jutting intensity, and the unapologetic