Down the Darkest Street Read Online Free Page B

“You used to investigate stuff for work, right? Hell, even after all this psycho killer stuff, you took some random cases.”
    “Every blue moon, when I need cash. Never anything serious. Cheating husband, stuff like that. It wasn’t for me. The only one that was close to being a ‘case’ was a complete disaster,” Pete said. The case—which involved a lawyer friend enlisting Pete to help find a missing child—had ended in tragedy, and cemented Pete’s belief that dabbling as a detective might not be the best idea, even if the work gave him an unexpected rush and meshed with skills he’d honed before. Even worse, it all went down when Pete found himself spiraling further down into his own private, alcohol-fueled hell. It was a few weeks after the case ended that Pete found himself on the floor of the Shelbourne Hotel bathroom after a bad round of karaoke. “I don’t even have a license for that kind of shit.”
    Dave didn’t respond. He’s annoyed , Pete thought.
    “Look, I’m not a detective. I don’t want to be one. We’ve been over this. Can we just let it drop?”
    “Whatever, dude. I was just making conversation. Thought you like to know about stuff like that. Crime. Whatever. Missing girls seem to be your thing.”
    Pete winced.
    An awkward silence followed. Pete went back to his book, Dave returned to collecting the paperbacks and restacking them somewhere near the back of the store. The door chime sounded. Pete took a second to finish the sentence he was reading before looking up. He dreaded actual customers—their questions, quirks, and weird attempts to befriend him. Manning the Book Bin register was generally easy and the store had a regular, if sometimes erratic, clientele, but every once in a while you’d get someone asking for an obscure fantasy novel series or inquiring where they could sell their used DVDs.
    It took a second for Pete to recognize Emily’s husband, Rick Blanco. His eyes were wide and his shirt was soaked with sweat. He looked thinner, and the stubble surrounding his face was new. He seemed worn-out and unhealthy. Pete set his book down and stood up. Rick was standing in front of the counter.
    “Rick,” Pete said. “Hey. What’s up?”
    “I need to talk to Emily. I know she’s staying with you.”
    Pete’s eyebrows popped up.
    “You have her number.”
    “I’ve been calling her. She doesn’t answer.”
    “Well…” Pete tried to slow things down. He didn’t hate Rick. He’d always struck Pete as a nice, if somewhat boring, guy. Still, he had a sinking suspicion—based on the bits and pieces Emily had shared with him—that the root of her sudden departure from her home and husband had to do with Rick’s own straying. Pete wasn’t going to bend over backwards to make Rick’s life any easier. “I think that’s pretty telling in its own way, don’t you?”
    “You’re loving this shit.”
    “What?”
    “This,” he said, waving his arm in Pete’s direction. “You won. Or you think you did. She’s with you now and your sad sack act worked. Well, good for you, man.”
    Pete stepped back and raised a hand in defense. “Look, I don’t want to get in the middle of this.”
    “That’s a new tactic for you. I guess you don’t have to meddle once the damage is done.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Don’t fucking play with me,” Rick said, leaning over the counter now. Pete saw Dave in the background, concern in his eyes. “This is what you wanted. And fine, I fucked up and made it easier for you. But she’s my wife.”
    “If she wants to talk to you, she will.”
    Rick grabbed Pete’s shirt and tugged him forward, his breath hot on Pete’s face. He smelled of cheap wine and dirt.
    “You think I want to go through you first? I’ve tried to find her—at work, at your house,” Rick said. “I need to talk to her now.”
    Pete pushed him away and tried to regain his composure. He took a soft fighting stance, ready for Rick—who,