Robert B. Parker's Wonderland Read Online Free

Okay.”
    “Does this mean you wish to cooperate?”
    “Don’t call the cops,” he said. “I’m on parole.”
    “Maybe you should seek other job opportunities,” Z said.
    “And not fight like such a goddamn pussy,” Henry said.
    “That, too.”
    “Go to hell,” Walleye said.
    “Careful, you’re bleeding on my new boots,” I said.
    Walleye got to his feet slowly. His eyes flicked from Z to me. Z would not relinquish his foot from his pal’s neck.
    “Let him go,” Walleye said. “And give our fucking guns back.”
    “Name?”
    “Jesus Christ.”
    “I doubt it,” I said.
    “I want my fucking guns back.”
    “Nope,” I said. “You got two seconds to give me a name or I’ll see you at your arraignment.”
    “I don’t know her name.”
    “Her?” I said.
    “Yeah, a woman. Nice body. Big tits.”
    “Oh, her,” Z said.
    “She should’ve come herself,” Henry said. “She could’ve done better.”
    “I just got word about a job,” Walleye said. “My cousin told me to meet this broad at the HoJo at Fenway. At that Chinese restaurant. You know the Hong Kong Café?”
    “Name?”
    “I don’t remember,” Walleye said. “I was too busy staring at her bazooms and counting the money.”
    “How’d you keep in touch?”
    “She wrote her cell number on a napkin. Told me not to use it unless it was an emergency.”
    Z smiled and shook his head. He helped the bleeding man to his feet, smoothing down the man’s denim jacket and brushing his shoulders as if he were a tailor. I reached into Walleye’s back pocket and lifted his wallet. I handed it to him, and after a few seconds, he extracted a folded napkin and handed it to me. I read it and neatly placed it into my jacket.
    “A pleasure doing business with you guys,” I said.
    They limped unhappily back to a beaten Chevy sedan, Rust-Oleum polka-dotting the doors and hood. The windshield was cracked and the muffler sagged from the rear end, catching the condo’s drive and sparking for a moment before the car turned south on Beach Boulevard and into the night.
    “Now you pissed ’em off,” Henry said. “Whoever this is won’t waste the effort on amateur hour next time.”
    I shrugged. Z grinned in expectation.

5
    “SO YOU JUST called her?” Z said.
    “Yep.”
    “And she’s coming?”
    “Yep.”
    We shut the doors to my Explorer and walked toward the Hong Kong Café attached to the HoJo. The cracked asphalt glowed dully under the streetlamps. “I guess this couldn’t have waited or she’d be onto us?”
    “The contact point was a Chinese restaurant,” I said. “I happened to be hungry and like Chinese food.”
    “And it didn’t hurt that the woman was described as having a nice body and large breasts.”
    “I only have eyes for a cold Tsingtao.”
    “I’ll sit at the bar,” Z said, and made his way through the restaurant.
    I decided on the moo shu pork along with an order of spareribs and an egg roll. No need to be gluttonous. The waiter quickly brought me a cold Tsingtao. Z lifted his identical bottle from the bar and gave a slight nod.
    As I drank, I was ever vigilant for a gorgeous woman blessed with ample bosom. Although no woman compared to Susan Silverman, it was important to remain vigilant. I had years of experience at detail work. A keen, appraising eye. Of course, I wasn’t sure if the woman would come or not. For all I knew, Walleye might have dialed her up right after our chat and told her what happened. But guys like Walleye are seldom proficient at explaining why their asses were just handed to them, and, more often than not, pretend it never happened. It wasn’t great for business.
    I watched the door from the lobby and dug into the spareribs. From where I sat, I could see through a large bank of windows over a pool still covered, waiting for summer. Behind the pool and a large concrete wall, the lights of Fenway blazed, although the Sox were on the road. Rain had started to fall in the bright electric