Last of the Independents Read Online Free Page B

it to a slim joint he produced from his pocket. I scanned my table carefully and found particles of bud, mostly stems and seeds.
    â€œGo outside to do that.”
    â€œNot till you hear me out on Speed ,” he said. He began counting the virtues on his fingers. “It’s got at least as many fully-developed characters. It’s better paced. The effects are better. It’s got as many memorable lines of dialogue. It obeys the laws of Aristotelian unity. It’s better acted.”
    â€œBetter acted,” Katherine said. “Keanu Reeves?”
    The buzzer saved me from responding. On the monitor I saw Cliff Szabo start up the steep stairs. “Troll somewhere else,” I told Ben. To Katherine I added, “The bonus for the Laws job is yours provided you pick up the check from him.”
    â€œWhy so generous?” she asked, as Ben ducked out of the room, pawing his pockets in search of his Zippo.
    â€œYou did the work.”
    â€œThat the only reason?”
    â€œIt’s not the highest paying job, I know.”
    â€œHow about fifty-fifty?”
    â€œWhere I come from we don’t turn away money.”
    â€œYou just did.”
    Cliff Szabo stepped past her. Katherine shut the door as she left, shooting me a look that was equal parts “thank you” and “you’re insane.”
    Szabo tested the bench before sitting down. “I overreact,” he said by way of apology.
    â€œI’d like to help,” I said.
    â€œI’m still not sure,” he said. “What can you do the cops can’t?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing,” he repeated.
    â€œThat’s right. The police have resources and connections I can’t begin to compete with. They’re your best hope to get your son back. Any PI who’s not a fraud will tell you the same.”
    â€œSo why hire you?”
    â€œBecause, statistically speaking, the more people looking, the better. And because sometimes people get lucky.”
    I gestured at the kettle. Szabo shook his head.
    â€œMost missing persons the police find, or they come back on their own. Of the three I worked where that wasn’t the case, I found two. And both were due more to luck and patience than skill.”
    â€œYou said three.”
    I nodded at the Loeb file on the corner of my table.
    â€œI want you to understand,” I said. “The best I can do is work this efficiently and diligently. I can’t make your son appear. When you feel that what I’m doing isn’t helping, say so, but know going in that it’s expensive and time-consuming, and there are no guarantees.”
    He stood up and walked to the table. He produced a thick roll of twenties, stretched the elastic around his wrist, and began counting out piles of five.
    â€œYou don’t have to pay up front,” I said.
    He didn’t reply until there were six piles of five, fanned across the table like a poker hand.
    â€œSix hundred is all the money I have,” he said.
    We both looked at the money silently.
    â€œI can also pay you ten percent.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œMy business,” he said, his posture perfect, dignified.
    I was going to object, because I didn’t want his money and because it wasn’t nearly enough. It was an insult to say anything either way. I nodded and created an empty file on the Mac.
    â€œTell me everything,” I said.
    â€œFriday, March 6th was the day he went missing. I pulled Django James out of school to take with me. I had things to sell. An Ampex reel-to-reel, some coins, and a BMX bike. He was very fond of the bike. He helped me clean it, paint it, replace the chain. The previous owners hadn’t cared for it, even though it was a Schwinn Stingray, the Bicentennial model. I let Django choose the new colour. He chose blue.”
    â€œThe cleaning et cetera happened prior to that Friday?”
    â€œYes. We loaded the car in the morning. I sold