Rubbed Out Read Online Free

SUV
    I can’t do that anymore. I’ve gotten to the point where I need a certain degree of permanence. Maybe that’s what middle age is all about—sleeping in your own bed at night and being happy about it.
    I poured myself another cup of coffee, cleaned out the cut on my hand, picked up the phone, and called Santini. We arranged a meeting at his office down at the State Tower Building for six.
    I was fifteen minutes late.

Chapter Four
    T he State Tower Building was constructed in the thirties. It would make a great movie set. It still has the marble paneling, the carved wooden ceiling, and the art deco lamps that define the architecture of that period. Unfortunately, Paul’s office doesn’t follow suit. It has a jerry-rigged feel to it. Definitely not the kind of place that would inspire me to spill my guts out, but I guess I’m in the minority because he does a pretty good business.
    I walked through the waiting room with its lone picture and pushed open the door to the main office without bothering to knock. Today the place smelled of pepperoni pizza. Other days it smells of fried chicken or meatball subs. That’s one of the things I like about Paul—he’s not a health food nazi.
    Paul was sitting at his desk fiddling with his computer. The wheels on his chair squeaked as he turned to look at me.
    â€œWhat if I’d been with a client?”
    â€œBut you’re not.”
    Santini looked like what he was: an ex-cop. He was heavyset. Big hands. Beefy features. Going to seed around the middle. What was it that had attracted me to him? Not his looks, that was for sure. Maybe his air of confidence. Maybe that’s what I’d liked about George. God, just the thought of George made me want to reach for a cigarette. I wondered how many patches you could wear without getting sick. I took a deep breath and thought of other things.
    The desk, the file cabinets, the couple of pieces of bad art on the wall, the run-down sofa, and the chairs hadn’t changed since the last time I’d been there. Add in Paul’s license, computer and printer, and the coffeemaker, and you had the sum and substance of his furnishings. The only thing new was the spider plant, and that was dying. I pointed to it.
    â€œMaybe you should try plastic.”
    â€œI’ll take it under advisement. You gonna take off your jacket or what?”
    I realized I still had my ski parka on. I unzipped it, threw it on the sofa, and sat down in the chair next to his desk.
    Paul leaned back in his chair and rested his right calf on his left knee. “So how are things going?”
    â€œThey’re goin’ the same way they always do.”
    Someone was yelling at someone on the sidewalk outside.
    â€œThey put a food pantry near here and then they wonder why no one comes downtown,” Paul said. “By the way,” he added. “You look like shit.”
    â€œThanks. I like a man who gives me compliments.”
    â€œWe should get together.”
    â€œWe are.”
    â€œThat’s not what I mean.”
    â€œI know.”
    Paul tilted his chair back even further, folded his hands, and rested them on his belly while he regarded me. “You see George recently?”
    â€œWhy? What do you care?”
    Paul picked at a nail. “Just making conversation.”
    â€œHow about we stick to business?”
    â€œFine. If that’s the way you want it.”
    â€œThat’s the way I want it.”
    He straightened up, turned around, and reached for a folder that was lying on his desk. “I’m surprised you got the message.”
    â€œI am too. You’re not on Manuel’s favorite-person list.”
    â€œI spend nights worrying about it.”
    â€œYou should be nicer to him.”
    â€œI’ve known lots of Manuels. Sooner or later they all end up in the shit pile.”
    â€œMaybe they wouldn’t if you gave them a chance.”
    â€œPeople make