Shovel Ready Read Online Free Page B

came this way looking for help, this is the place she would have ended up.
    Assuming she didn’t know that this is where those men were planning to take her in the first place.
    Or that she came this way.
    Or that she needed help.
    I figure Sherlock and the other cops back there will probably just call it a night. Didn’t seem too concerned with cracking the Case of the Man with the Ampersand Tattoo.
    Couple of lowlifes in a van. Not exactly top priority. And no one wants to hang out in Red Hook after dark.
    Then again, one of the cops might remember that tattoo, spot this neon sign, and decide to earn a paycheck for once and maybe poke around.
    If so, I’d like a head start.
    Door of the Bait & Switch jingles as I head inside.
    Sparse weeknight crowd. A few dedicated lonelies parked at the bar. One couple fighting at a round-top in the corner, hissing at each other in inside voices. Her: cat’s-eye glasses. Him: at least six whiskeys down. Looks like they made their missed connection after all.
    I claim a stool.
    Bartender wanders over. No ampersand tattoos. Just anchors on his forearms. Like Popeye.
    What can I get you?
    I’m looking for a girl.
    He smiles.
    Aren’t we all?
    She would have come in a few hours ago. Might have looked scared. Or maybe not.
    He unsmiles. Puts a shot glass down in front of me.
    Sorry, but I’m not paid to notice anything here except empty glasses.
    Fills the shot glass up with whatever’s on hand. Something amber and alcoholic. Screws the cap back on. Anchors flexing.
    But if you’re looking for company, we do have a back room. Plenty of girls back there. Some of them scared-looking. If that’s what you’re into.
    I toast him with the shot glass.
    No thanks. I’m good.
    Well, why don’t I leave you to your drink then? This one’s on the house. Next one you can get somewhere else.
    Then he trundles off to tend to the other drunks, like a gardener pruning a row of wilted plants.

    As for me, I’m more or less back at the beginning. New York is big and my Persephone could be anywhere.
    Needle in a haystack and that’s not even her real name.
    So I vow to look in all the usual places, starting with the bottom of this here glass.
    I raise the glass. Solemnly promise. I will get to the bottom of this.
    Down it.
    I know it’s a cliché to be a hard drinker in my profession. But it’s the one part I do really well.
    Well, this, and that other part.
    It’s just all the stuff in between.
    Camps have dried up. Uncle’s dead, thanks to me. And she just left two bodies in a van. Quick and fearless with a blade, I’ll give her that. Technique’s rough, but certainly no shortage of guts. Then again, it’s not too hard to take down two men if you’ve got a decent-sized knife and they don’t.
    Just start stabbing.
    I motion for another round, then remember I’m on the bartender’s blacklist.
    So if I’m a girl, maybe covered in blood, definitely alone in the big city, where do I head next?
    Tiffany’s?
    If there was still a Tiffany’s.
    I guess I could always peek into the bar’s back room. Interview a few of the dominatrices.
    Plural of dominatrix. That word I had to look up.
    But I’m not really in the mood to interrogate regular people right now, let alone ones wearing full-leather masks.
    With zippers for mouths.
    I need to get out of Brooklyn.
    But I sit a minute more and try to formulate a theory.
    On the run from her father, presumably. Did something bad enough that he wants her found but he doesn’t want her back.
    If I can figure out what, that might give me a hint where she’s headed.
    Not that I’m interested in motives. Just whereabouts.
    But my brain’s an empty blackboard. There must be a school for this somewhere. I’ll enroll in the morning.
    I finish the dregs of my drink.
    Pull my coat from the stool-back.
    Needle in a haystack. Never did understand that expression. Fuck searching, just buy another needle—
    Bells on the door jingle. Like it’s