Tears Are for Angels Read Online Free

minute or two she came back and went straight to the car and got in. I imagined I could hear the click of the door and then everything was still again. I took another slug at the jar.
        I didn't even claim the insurance, I thought, so it couldn't be that. Besides, they'd have been around long ago if they were going to get their noses in it. So it's not the insurance.
        And it's not the cops. They aren't interested in it any more. So that leaves only one. Only him.
        He's tired of it, I thought, he's tired of the waiting. That must be it. So he's sent her out here to find out what I'm going to do. He could have found somebody like her. He would have known where to find somebody like her to do it for him.
        So now I'll have to try again. I'll have to squeeze up the guts and the brains to figure out a way. If I'm ever going to do it. I'll have to try again, after all this time, to figure out a way. Because I don't want him to relax, not ever.
        I had to think. That was clear. I had to figure it out between now and morning and get it all straight. I had to think. So I readied out for the jar and took another drink and then another.
        Because I couldn't think. I couldn't think any more, not for the last two years. Not when it came to him, and now not when it came to her. I took another drink.
        Now his face came, floating somewhere between me and the stars, mocking and sneering, and this time hers was beside it. Now there were two of them and I couldn't do anything about either one, or even think about them.
        Pretty soon I was drunk. But the faces wouldn't go away. Then it all went out of my mind and I slept and they did go away. But hers came right back and this time it had a body. It had small, high breasts and thighs and slim hips and I wanted that body, but I could do no more about it than I could do about the face.
        When I was awake again there weren't any faces or any bodies, and I rolled over and stuck my head in the spring and drank deeply.
        I stood up. My head was a little clearer and I walked over to the car and stood looking through the window at her. She was asleep, sprawled across the front seat, with an old trench coat pulled across her. All I could see of her was the face framed in the fair hair, and her ankles and feet. Her face was calm and unfurrowed and she looked much younger.
        The bitch. I thought. But there wasn't any bitterness in it and I went on into the shack and jerked oil my clothes and sprawled across the bunk.
        Got to think, I told myself. Got to figure it out.
        And then I was asleep again…
        When I woke it was still dark, and I lay there a moment wondering what the sound was.
        It came again, a tiny squeak no louder than a mouse squealing. I was sprawled on my stomach, my legs hanging over the side, and I turned my head very cautiously.
        A small beam of light was moving in the corner, and I remembered the key in my pocket and knew it must be the trunk. She had seen me take the key out and put it back.
        Very carefully, I rose from the bunk. The whisky fumes were gone from my head now and my senses seemed sharp and clear. I stopped breathing and took a slow step toward the beam of light. In it, I saw a hand moving furtively in the trunk.
        I took another step. And another. Then one more. Then I sprang at the faint, dim shape of her.
        She went down easily and I was on top of her. The light clattered to the floor and she struggled for only a moment, fists puny against my chest, and lay still, breathing heavily. I caught both her wrists in my hand and sat on her.
        "You don't smell any better with your clothes off," she said. There was not even excitement in her voice.
        I let go of her wrists and slapped her. I heard the breathing catch, but the voice went on, still calm and even: "I thought you'd be too drunk to wake up."
        I slapped her