Kill and Tell Read Online Free

nothing suspicious. He now went straight down Carondelet and crossed Canal, where Carondelet became Bourbon Street. Tourists still strolled the uneven pavements, newly emerged from the restaurants and bars and strip joints. Some were obviously drunk, holding plastic cups sloshing with beer or Hurricanes. More than a few wore cheap plastic necklaces in a variety of colors, and sequined masks were evident as well, though Mardi Gras was months past.
    The bar lights glittered on the wet pavement, and jazz wailed out of the open doors of the bars, colliding with the more discordant, driving beats coming from the strip joints, where bored-looking dancers, both male and female, gyrated their hips and humped poles and pretended to be sexy. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    Laughter rippled from one group of tourists, three prosperous-looking young men whose arms were clutched by glittering young women in cocktail dresses. As Dexter watched, a briskly walking man brushed past the group and went on his way, turning at the next street and disappearing from view, with at least one of the young men's wallets inside his shirt. Not one of the tourists realized anything had happened.
    It was like watching a movie, as if he didn't inhabit the same world as the tourists. They were oblivious to him, looking past him, through him. Dexter shivered suddenly, despite the thick heat of a New Orleans summer night. He had been disconnected since Nam, but abruptly he felt even more distant, as if the tourists wouldn't be able to hear him even if he shouted.
    It was a peculiar feeling, making him shiver again. He walked down Bourbon, glancing in the open doors as he passed, the music and laughter echoing as if from a distance. The foot traffic was heavier here, and cops on horseback clopped by, steel horseshoes ringing on the pavement. Dexter walked faster, looking for a dark alley where he could hunker down for a minute and shake this spooky feeling. This wasn't downtown, though, this was the Quarter, and alleys were usually entrances to courtyards. If they were private courtyards, the entrances were gated and locked. If the courtyard belonged to a restaurant, he wouldn't find any privacy there.
    He reminded himself that he hadn't come to the Quarter for privacy; he had come precisely because Bourbon Street was so active, and he could lose himself in the foot traffic. All he needed to do was ignore the weird feeling and get on with business. Maybe leave New Orleans entirely, now that Medina was on his trail.
    Medina. Dexter thought about it and realized what felt so wrong, what had spooked him. Medina wasn't anybody's dog. The man had principles. Things happened to people over the years, changed them, but it would take a real sea change to turn Rick Medina into a kill-for-hire man. Three alternative possibilities presented themselves. One: Medina had been lied to. That was the easiest explanation but possibly the most implausible because of Medina's personality. He wouldn't take kindly to being used, and if he ever found out, there would be hell to pay. Two: Medina was definitely hunting him, but for a third, unknown party. Perhaps the secret wasn't as well kept as he had thought. God knows it would make great ammunition. This possibility was way out there on the edge of conspiracy, but as someone had said, even paranoids have real enemies. Three: Medina was here for another reason entirely. It was mere chance that Dexter had seen and recognized him.
    Yeah, sure.
    Dexter reached St. Ann Street and turned down it, not looking in the windows of the voodoo shop as he walked past. That was some weird shit, and he had all the weirdness he could handle right now. Maybe he should have stayed on Bourbon; St. Ann was empty—
    Medina stepped out in front of him, silenced .22 in hand.
    Dexter stopped, looking into those calm blue eyes. His own pistol was stuck in the back of his waistband, and he knew he'd never be