Forty Thieves Read Online Free Page B

intimidation tactics.” He took off his practice boxing gloves and then untied and pulled off her right one so she could untie the other.
    She said, “That was a pretty good fight, though.”
    “I never fight with my wife. That was a workout.”
    “Let’s go up and get a shower. We’ve got to meet Mr. Hemphill.” She popped up and kissed his cheek.
    They stepped off the thick gym mat, hung up their gloves, and put their shoes into the cubbyholes along the wall, then went to the stairs.
    As they climbed, she said, “Thanks for being my practice dummy.”
    “I prefer the term ‘sparring partner.’”
    “I suppose you would.”
    David Hemphill arrived at the parking structure, found a space on the roof, and got out of the Lincoln Town Car the company leased for him. He noticed that two aisles away, both front doors of another car opened and a couple emerged. Hemphill didn’t look straight at them, but he kept them in the corner of his eye as he leaned into the backseat to retrieve his suit coat and then put it on. They were both dressed in business attire, but from here he couldn’t tell more than that. They seemed to be looking at him, but it didn’t make him self-conscious about his appearance. His appearance was his best quality.
    David Hemphill looked like an ambassador to some important country. He wore conservative suits in blue, gray, or black, perfectly pressed shirts, and ties held fast by subtleclasps. He seldom used slang or rough speech. Because of the way he presented himself, the company often used him as its representative in meetings that required discretion and tact but no technical knowledge or strategic expertise. In reality he was only a bureaucrat raised a little above the middle range because of long tenure. He was in charge of personnel administration for a single section. That was the title in his personnel file—Human Resources Director, Research Section. Not mentioned in his file was his keen ability to sense when things around him were not as he had expected, and the coincidental arrival of two people had made him watchful.
    He stood by the open door of this car and pretended to be checking the seat for some lost object while he waited for the man and woman to reveal which way they were going. They were walking toward him. It occurred to him that getting involved in a murder investigation might not be entirely safe. Then he wondered what he would do if this were some kind of unfriendly approach.
    “Mr. Hemphill?” said the woman.
    “Yes,” he said.
    “I’m Veronica Abel.” She smiled fleetingly and gave his hand a shake. “This is Sid Abel.”
    Another shake from Sid, this one a much larger, stronger hand, but the same duration and intensity. The couple looked like a pair of high school teachers, the sort who had seen everything at least five times, and hadn’t been particularly disturbed by it the first time.
    The woman, Veronica, was talking again. “We noticed that the restaurant was a little crowded and noisy, so we picked another one on the next street over.”
    The man, Sid, said, “This stairwell over here.” Hemphill went with them. He had not really been given a choice, but he wasn’t sure whether he should mind.
    The alternative restaurant was a revelation. It was called Anthony’s, and it was old, with dark wood panels and a bar that ran the length of the eighty-foot dining room. There was a lunch crowd, but it looked to Hemphill to be about half composed of men who talked in guarded voices and raised their eyes frequently to be sure nobody was close enough to overhear, and couples who behaved the same way. A large man with a shaved head saw them enter and said, “Ronnie, Sid. I’ll put you over here,” and led them to a booth by the back wall.
    They sat, and Hemphill suspected that the Abels had never intended to meet him at the Merinal restaurant. The last-minute change had simply prevented anyone at his office from knowing in advance where this meeting