In the Teeth of the Wind Read Online Free

defensively, watching out for the idiot drivers who passed him as though the
    roads weren't slick and the snow wasn't spilling across the surfaces to hide icy patches. His wiper blades
    were going full tilt, scraping away the rime of frost that threatened to form against the cold glass.
    By the time he got home, he was exhausted and his headache had become a throbbing torment from
    hell. The two drinks at the Brew seemed to have given him more of a buzz than normal and the only way
    he knew how to handle that was with a long hot shower and an Alka-Seltzer.
    He kicked off his snow-encrusted boots, then peeled off his sheepskin-lined denim jacket and draped
    it across a tall rocker on the front porch. The smell of cigarette smoke was sickening and he knew he
    wouldn't wear the thing again until the stench was gone; likewise, he couldn't wait to rid his hair of the
    same horrible odor.
    When he was through bathing, he braced his hands to either side of the shower head, leaned forward,
    and let the water beat down on tired shoulders. Water cascaded on his head and ran along his nose and
    chin. He stared, mesmerized, at the circular motion as it disappeared below the drain's grating.
    Conor sighed. The heat, combined with the delicious feel of the water and cleansing steam, enticed him
    to remain, but his headache was no better and a slight discomfort in his gut warned of an impending
    hangover.
    As he turned off the water, he heard the phone ring and cursed. He threw back the curtain and
    hooked a towel from the wicker shelf unit over the commode. Wrapping the towel around him, he went
    into the living room just as his answering machine clicked off. Obviously the caller did not leave a
    message for the number 2 was still in the display window. He hit the rewind button and listened.
    The first message was from his sister, Caitlin, in Dubuque, calling to remind him to send their mother a
    birthday card. "Don't screw up again, okay, Conor?" she hissed before hanging up. "You have a way of
    doing that."
    "Sanctimonious bitch." Conor let out a long, irritated sigh. He only heard from his sister three times a
    year: Mother's Day, their mother's birthday, and Christmas. Each time was only to remind him to send a
    greeting card as though he didn't have sense enough to do it on his own. He resented it more and more
    every year.
    The second call was from Myra Willingham out at the Witch's Brew Roadhouse. Static sizzled on the
    line, hard rock music blared in the background. "Look, Irish," the message began. "I just wanted to warn
    you." Here, the words faded a little, but Conor understood them well enough. "You've always done right
    by me and I owe you." A prolonged hiss of static, then a high-pitched whine almost obscured the last
    words: "Don't let her…"
    The tape unwound into more static, then beeped, message ended.
    Conor stared at the machine in confusion. _What the hell was that all about?_ Once, he and Myra had
    spent a wild weekend together in St. Louis and another couple of days in Chicago. After that, he'd
    passed her on to Triplett, who, in turn, passed her down to Donne, who passed her on to Corbettson.
    The only right thing Nolan had ever done for her was to loan her the money to get an abortion. The
    father's identity was anyone's guess.
    Conor was torn between trying to call Myra back or just letting it slide until morning. He stood there,
    chewing the cuticle on his right thumb for a moment - a habit he had when he was thinking - then
    shrugged. Finally, he decided he was more tired than curious and turned to go back into the bedroom
    just as the doorbell rang.
    "Ah, shit! Who the hell is that?" He glanced down at the towel wrapped around his hips.
    The bell chimed again.
    With a snarl more of annoyance than anger, Nolan went to the door and pulled back the sheer curtain
    that covered the side panel.
    She was standing on his porch, looking at him through the glass. Her lips parted in a smile and she
    arched one thick