The Interview Read Online Free

the
distance between us. She didn’t prevent me from opening the
door. Which was a good thing. I think I would have lost that fight.
    I left the house, climbed into the Cougar, fired her up and headed
for home. I arrived home at 9:30. Annette was asleep. I tiptoed
around the house, took a shower, then climbed into bed with
Connolly’s The Killing Kind .
I read about the honeycomb world of Parker, Louis, and Angel for a
few pages before sleep magically took me.

    I WAS IN THE MIDST of making love to Alex when the dream got weird.
Alex was on top of me. At least I thought it was Alex. I could only
see the whites of her eyes and her two front teeth. You know how
dreams are, your mind kind of fills in the stuff you're not quite
sure about. Unseen hands caressed my face. Alex rocked back and
forth. A needle pierced my upper lip, and unseen hands began
stitching my mouth shut. It hurt. The pain brought me up from the
depths of sleep, and just before I came awake, Frankie whispered in
my ear, “Annette!”
    Weird. I know, right?
    My mouth was dry. That might have been because I was dehydrated from
walking around in the heat all day, but I was leaning towards the
duct tape that was covering my mouth. My wrists were tied together
and rested on my lap.
    Huh.
    My eyes adjusted to the lack of light slowly, but fast enough for me
to take note of the gun pointed at my face. I shot a glance at my
bedroom door. It was closed.
    “She's fine,” a voice said. “She won't even know I
was here.”
    I could take that a couple different ways, but it was good to know
that after he shot me he wouldn't repeat the process with Annette. I
nodded my head in thanks.
    “You're welcome.” The gun never moved, just stared me
down with its big black hole of a barrel. I don't know anything about
guns. I couldn't tell you the difference between a .38 and a .44. I
know what a handgun is, and what a rifle is. After that, who knows.
All I can tell you is that it looked freaking gigantic and it was
slightly more intimidating than Tristan's gun. Without a doubt it
could splatter my brains all over the wall. I was definitely over
this recent trend of guys sticking their guns in my face.
    “I'm going to take the tape off. Do I need to give you the
standard warnings about calling out for help?”
    I shook my head.
    “Excellent.” The gun didn't move while his free hand
reached out and ripped the tape off my mouth. I was fairly sure I
wouldn't need to shave in the morning.
    “Batman doesn't use a gun,” I said when the stinging in
my lips began to recede.
    “Huh? Oh, the mask. Last minute thing. Be glad I found this.”
    I took that to mean not a lot of people saw his face and then went on
living. Still, it was kind of hard to take him seriously with his
pointy bat ears. I looked at the gun instead. Nothing funny there. I
waited.
    My father taught me the value of patience. We fished a lot when I was
a kid, and fishing is about patience. He also taught me to not fill
silence with the sound of my voice just to end the silence.
    I was cool with the silence. The gun was a different story, but I
didn't think talking was going to make the gun go away. In fact,
talking might make the gun go boom. I didn't want that.
    He broke before I did, and said, “What's your connection to
Tristan?”
    “Don't have one.”
    “You were at his home earlier tonight.”
    It wasn't a question so I didn't offer up an answer. Besides, my
mouth was so dry. I started smacking my mouth and licking my lips.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Thirsty.” Smack. Lick. Oh God, I needed water.
    Batman shook his head at me. The gun was steady. I swallowed loudly.
    “I don't suppose you have any water in here.”
    I shook my head, and smacked and licked some more. I could feel my
lips beginning to chap. It was agony.
    “Fine. Get up. We'll go in the kitchen. If the little old lady
wakes up, it's on you.” A few years back, a kid with a
driver’s license with the ink still wet and way too