Nightwork Read Online Free

it?”
    “Ossie just got sick,” Angela said.
    “Maybe somebody made him sick,” Dave said.
    “What for?” Molloy twisted out his cigarette. “Paul fingered Silencio for that holdup. That’s why Silencio killed him. Where does Ossie come in?”
    “He got Paul the nightwork.” Dave turned to Angela. “What was he doing up in Torcido Canyon at three in the morning? What was he hauling? Who was he working for?”
    “He—never told me.” The bag fell from her lap with a muffled thud. She snatched it up, rummaged in it, brought out a little mirror. She touched her bruises. “I’m a mess.”
    “You weren’t curious about what he was doing? You said it worried you, how tired he was making himself.”
    “It paid well. That’s all he said. He wanted to help my folks.” She glanced at Molloy. “Our folks. Dad had a stroke. He was always strong as a horse, so naturally he didn’t have any health insurance. They used up all their savings practically overnight—doctors, hospital bills. He’s a carpenter, and you know how much work they’ve been getting lately. They were running out of money even before he got sick.”
    “What about the union?” Dave said.
    Molloy’s laugh was dry. “He didn’t believe in unions. He wasn’t going to shell out dues every month so some fat wop racketeer could sit with his feet up on a desk drinking beer while he earned a living for the son of a bitch.”
    Dave watched Angela apply fresh lipstick. Her hand trembled. He said, “Every man doesn’t feel so responsible for his in-laws.”
    Molloy made a sound of disgust. “Dad bought Paul his first semi, started him out as an independent. Do you think he did the same for me when I got old enough? Forget it.”
    “Paul still owed him for the truck?” Dave asked.
    “He paid that off long ago.” Angela closed the lipstick and dropped it into the bag. “No. Dad was good to him when he needed help. Paul wouldn’t forget a thing like that. Dad was in trouble. Paul did all he could.”
    “He doesn’t sound like a wife-beater,” Dave said.
    “He was tired and strung out. He was taking pills to keep him awake. Amphetamines. Truckers always have them. Pass them around to their buddies at rest stops.” The mirror was propped against her coffee mug. She dropped the mirror into the bag now and zipped the bag closed. “He wasn’t mean. It was too much pressure for him. He was frantic, and I got him sore, nagging at him to give it up. He was kind and patient before.” Her eyes leaked tears. She wiped them away with a finger. “You ask the kids.”
    “Amphetamines can make a man edgy,” Dave said.
    “Where the hell is your County friend?” Molloy was reading a five-dollar digital watch. “Silencio will be in Mexico by now. In Argentina.” He laid his cigarette in the ashtray, picked up his mug. “What did you say this deputy’s name is?”
    “Salazar,” Dave said.
    “Jesus, another spic.” Molloy choked on coffee. “Don’t they hire white people anymore? What’s a guy named Salazar going to do about a guy named Ruiz?”
    “Whatever has to be done,” Dave said.
    Angela got to her feet, clutching her bag. “I have to get to work.”
    “You’d better phone in sick,” Dave said.
    “I’ve already been off a week. They’ll replace me with some other girl. I have to have that job.” She unzipped the bag again to dig keys out of it. “I have children to feed and bills to pay.”
    “I don’t like to sound heartless or anything,” Molloy said, “but you’ve got a big fat insurance check coming.”
    “Hah.” She looked glumly at Dave. “Have I?”
    Dave gave her a little half smile. “Possibly. Tell me Louella Bishop’s address.”
    “She left town. I don’t know.” Angela pushed open the back screen door. “I don’t care. I’m glad she’s gone.”
    “Lieutenant Salazar will want to talk to you.”
    “Paul’s dead,” she said, “and you say someone killed him. That’s all I know. There’s