Down the Darkest Street Read Online Free

time in years. He turned the car onto Giralda, a small street off Miracle Mile. He was in the heart of Coral Gables, surrounded by townie shops and franchise restaurants. He drove for a few minutes and turned into a cramped parking lot next to an overpriced Thai restaurant. He got out of the car and locked the door. He walked across the street, looking around. He pushed open the main door to the bar—aptly called The Bar—and walked in.
    It was dark, in contrast to the bright, sunny, living world outside. The place was empty, too. The bartender, an older woman named Lisa who often worked the day shift, was wiping down the counter. She looked up at him and nodded before she went back to cleaning. Pete slid into a stool at the counter and cleared his throat. Before he could speak, a pint glass of Bass ale was placed in front of him. Lisa lingered for a second before moving across the bar to wipe down the other side.
    Pete turned the pint slowly, admiring the amber liquid, watching carefully as it jostled around the glass. He moved his hand back and reached for his wallet. He pulled out the photo with care, unfolding it as if in slow motion. It was about three years old.
    “You gonna drink it?” Lisa yelled from the kitchen, out of sight. “Or just stare at it, like usual?”
    Pete didn’t respond. He placed the photo flat on the bar next to the glass, careful not to get it wet or dirty. The photo was dark and out of focus, taken in a watering hole like a million others—possibly the one Pete was sitting in. It was Pete and his friend Mike. Happier times. Their eyes were both at half-mast, always a sign of a good night. Pete’s arm wrapped around Mike. He didn’t remember many of the details of that specific evening; the picture was one of the few he had of his friend.
    His memories were invaded by the vision of a car enflamed. A funeral. His best friend caught up in a mess of Pete’s creation. A mess that cost others their lives, too. He let out a long sigh as his fingers wrapped around the glass of beer. It would be so easy, he thought. Just pull it closer and take a sip. It wouldn’t have to be like the last time. Or the time before that.
    He let go of the pint glass and pushed the thought out of his head. He set the photo on the bar. The creaking gears inside the jukebox began to grind together.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The Book Bin w as a small used bookstore on Bird Road, caught between a Checkers cheeseburger joint and Antonia Nunez’s real estate office. It was cold, cramped, overstocked, and smelled of paper, wood, and age. Pete liked being there. In a town where everything seemed to be a long drive away, the fact that the Bin was near his house also helped.
    He pulled his car into the parking lot and grabbed his tattered copy of The Shining from the passenger seat as he got out. Pete felt like his entire life these days fell under “spare time.” He got a lot of reading done. A couple of books a week. Working at the store involved plenty of sitting around and reading. Every few hours someone would wander in—some looking for a specific book, others asking if they had a greeting card section or sold coffee. The job was relaxing but left a lot of time for thinking. Pete didn’t like thinking too much.
    The sound of chimes greeted him as he entered. The place was empty, which was pretty standard for early in the afternoon. Pete took his seat behind the register and opened his book. A few minutes later he heard whistling.
    Pete raised his head from the book as Dave Mendoza stepped into the main foyer/register area, his burly body passing with minimal grace through the narrow aisles which were bloated with paperbacks and dusty hardcovers—the bookshelves looking like they’d cave into each other with but a tap. Pete couldn’t help but smile as his friend came into view: Thin Lizzy T-shirt, large round sunglasses worn indoors, and beard more out of control than usual.
    Dave ran the Book Bin. It was a little pet