Thursday's Child Read Online Free Page B

startled, looked up quickly from his avid study of the figures in the ledger. Although they had never met, a sick sort of look crossed his face when he saw Robert standing there. It was as if he knew immediately that something was up and that it wasn’t going to be good. It had probably been a long time since anything good had happened to Berg. Of course, he deserved all the shit, because of being so stupid and trying to play in the same ballpark as the big boys.
    Robert didn’t say anything. He just sat down opposite Berg and opened the slightly moist Styrofoam box. He took out the cheeseburger.
    Berg set his pencil down carefully. Its end had been chewed nearly clear through to the lead. There were tiny flecks of yellow paint around Berg’s mouth.
    Robert swallowed the first bite of his sandwich and then took a long gulp of the Coke. It felt good going down his parched throat. He smiled. “Mr. Berg,” he said then, “you’re a very hard man to find.”
    â€œI didn’t know anybody was looking.”
    Ah, good. Berg had decided to play it tough. That made Robert very happy, because a guy who wanted to show his balls at a time like this was just asking for trouble. Especially if he couldn’t even hope to back up the belligerent attitude with action. Robert didn’t think that the skinny, balding Berg could. The only amazing thing was that the dope had summoned up the chutzpah to try and cross LoBianca in the first place. “I’ve been looking,” he said after another bite.
    â€œSo who the fuck are you, anyway?” the tough guy said.
    Robert didn’t answer right away. He was thinking that maybe he should have ordered some french fries, too, but he didn’t feel like walking all the way back to the counter. Which was exactly why he hated restaurants without waitresses. “My name is Turchek,” he said finally. “Robert Turchek.”
    Berg blinked. The name obviously meant something to him and that realization pleased Robert in a way he couldn’t really define.
    â€œYou know, Berg,” he said conversationally, “you don’t look like a complete dope to me. So how come you’ve lately been acting like one?”
    Berg was playing with the pencil. The look in his eyes said clearly that he’d like to drive the damned thing right into Robert’s heart. Fat chance. “Hey, Turchek, this is a free country. Capitalist system and all that shit. Somebody can’t stand a little competition, maybe he should get the hell out of the business.”
    Robert just had to grin at that. “You’re talking here about Mr. LoBianca, I guess. Well, see, he doesn’t care much about the capitalist system when it starts interfering in his own private business.”
    â€œThe market is big enough for both of us. Tell that to your boss, why don’t you?”
    Now he was being treated like nothing but some kind of damned errand boy. Killing Berg—which he would do, sooner or later—was going to be a real pleasure. Robert finished the Quarter-Pounder. He picked up the paper napkin and wiped his mouth carefully. “First of all, Berg, I don’t have a goddamned ‘boss,’ okay?” He crumpled the napkin and tossed it across the table. It fell into Berg’s lap. Berg didn’t pick it up. “Second of all, your fucking whining about just being part of the free-enterprise system doesn’t mean shit to me. Or to the man you’re trying to muscle in on. But see, he’s giving you a break. Killing you is liable to bring him some complications. Which he’d prefer to avoid, if possible.”
    A faint look of hope seemed to cross Berg’s face.
    Robert almost smiled. “So you have twenty-four hours to get your pathetic ass out of this city. Out of the whole fucking state, in fact.”
    â€œOr?”
    Berg was attempting to sneer, but not quite bringing it off.
    Robert knew when to talk