THREE TIMES A LADY Read Online Free
Author: Jon Osborne
down into her own seat next to a scuffed-up window near the wing, Dana imagined downing an entire cartful of drinks – not that she had any intention of letting the clumsy fool across the aisle buy any of them for her. Still, she deserved that much, didn’t she? Goddamn right, she did. A little something to take the edge off. A little something to dull the pain. And not just the pain of the fresh knot that was throbbing at the back of her skull, either.
Dana pulled on her seatbelt and turned to stare out the scratched-up window. Sadly, drinking was out of the question for her. Had been for quite some time now. Still, that didn’t mean the temptation had gone away. Far from it, actually.
Dana sighed and did her best to get comfortable in her cramped seat. Wasn’t easy. Economy class was worse than a goddamn straitjacket sometimes, but she could never quite bring herself to pony up the extra cash for more luxurious accommodations. And if nothing else, a screwdriver or two probably would’ve helped with that, loosened her up a bit. But Dana and the sauce had been in on-again, off-again, on-again relationship for the past fifteen years now, and when they were off-again – like they were right now – the alcohol seemed to call her more frequently than an ex-boyfriend who’d suddenly realised that he’d made the biggest mistake of his entire life when he’d announced his intention to start seeing other people before finally figuring out that his once-legendary appeal at the bar wasn’t what it had once been. Still, at least the voice was a familiar one to Dana, and the plain truth of the matter was that she didn’t have all that many people left in her life these days with whom she could consort. They were all gone now. Then again, she supposed that’s what you got when you had a disturbing habit of always letting those closest to you die unimaginably horrific deaths.
Dana closed her eyes at the unwelcome thought and fought back the sudden urge to cry. Luckily, it worked. Because not only did she not want anyone on the plane to see her crying, she highly doubted that enough moisture remained in her overworked tear ducts to support another crying jag, anyway. She’d already had enough crying jags in the past few hours alone to last her a lifetime. Several lifetimes, even. So instead of letting the waterworks flow once again, Dana simply opened up her eyes and watched through the small window as the ear-muffed ground crew loaded bags onto the plane. Predictably, though, this excruciatingly mind-numbing activity grew hopelessly boring after about three seconds or so and Dana finally stopped fighting the urge to let her gaze drift down to the soiled knees of her blue jeans. Like it or not, it was time to confront the evidence of her failures.
Matching dirt stains stared back at her. Mocked her, more like it. And why not? The dirt stains had come courtesy of her dead partner’s gravesite, at which she’d been kneeling just a few hours earlier. Still, that marked par for the course for her lately, didn’t it? Damn right, it did. After all, Jeremy Brown’s blood wasn’t the only blood Dana had on her hands; it was just the freshest. And now it was mixed in with the blood of her parents, the blood of her mentor, Crawford Bell, and the blood of her best friend, Eric Carlton. Not to mention the blood of the countless other innocent people she’d let die over the course of her supposedly ‘sterling’ fourteen-year career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Dana rubbed at the dirt stain on her right knee and cursed her wretched life for what seemed to be the billionth time already that day. Between Nathan Stiedowe – the sadistic serial killer who’d turned out to be her very own half-brother – and a pair of mentally unhinged billionaires who’d transformed the streets of Manhattan into a gigantic, bloody chessboard just for shits and giggles,
Dana pulled on her seatbelt and turned to stare out the scratched-up window. Sadly, drinking was out of the question for her. Had been for quite some time now. Still, that didn’t mean the temptation had gone away. Far from it, actually.
Dana sighed and did her best to get comfortable in her cramped seat. Wasn’t easy. Economy class was worse than a goddamn straitjacket sometimes, but she could never quite bring herself to pony up the extra cash for more luxurious accommodations. And if nothing else, a screwdriver or two probably would’ve helped with that, loosened her up a bit. But Dana and the sauce had been in on-again, off-again, on-again relationship for the past fifteen years now, and when they were off-again – like they were right now – the alcohol seemed to call her more frequently than an ex-boyfriend who’d suddenly realised that he’d made the biggest mistake of his entire life when he’d announced his intention to start seeing other people before finally figuring out that his once-legendary appeal at the bar wasn’t what it had once been. Still, at least the voice was a familiar one to Dana, and the plain truth of the matter was that she didn’t have all that many people left in her life these days with whom she could consort. They were all gone now. Then again, she supposed that’s what you got when you had a disturbing habit of always letting those closest to you die unimaginably horrific deaths.
Dana closed her eyes at the unwelcome thought and fought back the sudden urge to cry. Luckily, it worked. Because not only did she not want anyone on the plane to see her crying, she highly doubted that enough moisture remained in her overworked tear ducts to support another crying jag, anyway. She’d already had enough crying jags in the past few hours alone to last her a lifetime. Several lifetimes, even. So instead of letting the waterworks flow once again, Dana simply opened up her eyes and watched through the small window as the ear-muffed ground crew loaded bags onto the plane. Predictably, though, this excruciatingly mind-numbing activity grew hopelessly boring after about three seconds or so and Dana finally stopped fighting the urge to let her gaze drift down to the soiled knees of her blue jeans. Like it or not, it was time to confront the evidence of her failures.
Matching dirt stains stared back at her. Mocked her, more like it. And why not? The dirt stains had come courtesy of her dead partner’s gravesite, at which she’d been kneeling just a few hours earlier. Still, that marked par for the course for her lately, didn’t it? Damn right, it did. After all, Jeremy Brown’s blood wasn’t the only blood Dana had on her hands; it was just the freshest. And now it was mixed in with the blood of her parents, the blood of her mentor, Crawford Bell, and the blood of her best friend, Eric Carlton. Not to mention the blood of the countless other innocent people she’d let die over the course of her supposedly ‘sterling’ fourteen-year career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Dana rubbed at the dirt stain on her right knee and cursed her wretched life for what seemed to be the billionth time already that day. Between Nathan Stiedowe – the sadistic serial killer who’d turned out to be her very own half-brother – and a pair of mentally unhinged billionaires who’d transformed the streets of Manhattan into a gigantic, bloody chessboard just for shits and giggles,
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