Thursday's Child Read Online Free Page A

from the room again. Saul tasted the mousse. Then he said, “I imagine you must miss them a lot.”
    â€œYeah, I guess.” Beau used the curved bottom of his spoon to make canyons in the thick chocolate. It was several minutes before he spoke again. “The thing is,” he said carefully, “I feel like I’m all alone. There just isn’t anybody out there.” He glanced up, but there was no expression that could be read on his grandfather’s face. Beau stuck the spoon into his mouth and licked it clean. “What’s funny,” he went on at last, “is that I’ve always sort of felt this way. Even before they died. Because they had each other, see? They didn’t need me much. But the difference is that I just never had to think about it much before.”
    Saul looked at him for a moment. “You know, Beau,” he said, “I’m here for you. I’m family.”
    â€œYeah, I guess. But it’s not the same.”
    â€œIf we both try, maybe it could be.”
    Beau stared at him. “How come you hated my mother?”
    â€œI didn’t,” Saul protested.
    â€œJonathan said you did. He said that was one reason we never came back here. Because you hated Rachel so much.”
    Saul shook his head. “I didn’t hate her. I didn’t like what happened to Jonathan after they met. He dropped out of school, threw away his future. She got him all excited over things that he never cared much about before. Like the war. I didn’t hate Rachel. But I hated what she turned my son into.”
    â€œYeah? Well, that’s sort of like the same thing, isn’t it?”
    After a moment, Saul just sighed and shook his head. “That was all a long time ago,” he said. “How much can it matter now?”
    Beau shrugged. He bent his head over the table and began to eat the mousse quickly.

3
    1
    It had been a real zero of a day.
    Most of his time had been spent chasing around after that bastard in Santa Monica, another man who seemed constitutionally unable to keep his word on a business arrangement. There seemed to be a lot of that going around these days, and while Robert was glad for the work such behavior brought him, it did sometimes make him wonder just a little about the moral climate in the country. Why the hell were people so reluctant to accept responsibility for their own actions?
    On a sticky day like this one, when the air quality outside had to rival that which would be found, he imagined, in an equatorial garbage dump, there were a lot of things Robert Turchek would rather have been doing. But because he was a man who believed in doing the job he was being paid to do, he spent hours chasing an irresponsible asshole named Berg through the bars, porn flicks, and fast-food restaurants of Santa Monica and its environs.
    His mood after such a day was not good. If he didn’t have strict orders from LoBianca about how he wanted Berg handled, Robert would have been very tempted to shoot the bastard on sight.
    As soon as Robert walked into the McDonald’s, he spotted his prey sitting alone in a rear booth. Instead of going right over to him, however, Robert stopped at the counter and ordered a Quarter-Pounder with cheese and a large Coke. Then he carried his tray back to where Berg was sitting bent over a ledger. Trying to figure his way into the big time, probably. Berg didn’t seem to understand that some people were destined for greatness and some for the manure pile.
    Berg was definitely headed for deep shit.
    If he hadn’t been so pissed off about the miserable day that Berg had put him through, Robert might have found the whole thing a little pathetic. But the way he was feeling at the moment, he didn’t give a damn if the man had a dying mother and six hungry brats to support.
    Berg was a dead man who didn’t have the sense to stop breathing.
    Robert set the tray down onto the table with a crash. Berg,