So Nude, So Dead Read Online Free Page A

know, Dad, I know. You’re right, Dad. But this is different. I need the stuff. I’ve got to figure this out. I need a little time to think straight.”
    “What do you have to figure out?” Mr. Stone asked.
    “This whole business, this thing. The girl, I mean. She’s dead, don’t you understand?”
    “Ray,” Mr. Stone asked quietly, “why didn’t you go to Lexington when I asked you to?”
    Ray felt his patience beginning to snap. He needed a shot, that’s all, a shot, a lousy shot, and he had to go through all this crap. What did he have to do, get down on his knees? Why couldn’t they understand that he had to have it, that his body was screaming for it, that if he didn’t get it soon he’d rip the goddam table in half with his bare hands? Jesus. Jesus!
    “I didn’t want to go to Lexington. I’m no damned criminal. I’ve heard all about Lexington, thank you.”
    “From whom? From your fellow dope f—”
    “Don’t say it! Don’t say it,” Ray shouted. That was it, that was the breaking point. He was through kidding. “You’ve been reading too many comic-book exposés,” he said angrily.
    “This could all have been avoided,” Mr. Stone said.
    “Sure. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, you see.” He began to tap his heels on the floor. “I need a shot. I need money. I have to have a shot.” He was beginning to speak curiously, his words tumbling out one after the other, He knew this, and he was powerless to stop it. He didn’t care anyway. He didn’t care how he sounded. He wanted that money.
    He couldn’t sit any longer. He stood up abruptly, began pacing back and forth before the table, clenching and unclenching his fists.
    “Are you going to give me the money, or do I get it elsewhere?” he demanded.
    Mr. Stone reached out and put his hand on Ray’s arm. “Sit down, son. No need to get excited.”
    Ray remained standing, hating what he knew was coming, but making no attempt to stop his voice. “Do I get the money? I have to get out of here or I’ll bust wide open. I have to get that shot, can you understand? I can’t hang around here if you’re not giving me any money.”
    “I’ll give you the money, son. Sit down.”
    He reached for his wallet, and Ray sat clown, sighing deeply. “I’m sorry, Dad. Really, I’m sorry.” He cradled his head in his hands. “Why do I always have to beg you? Why can’t you understand what it’s like?” He looked across at his father.
    “You’re going to be all right, son,” Mr. Stone said. Ray saw his father’s eyes shift imperceptibly to the bar, then back to the wallet he’d placed on the table. Immediately, Ray’s eyes leaped to the mirror over the bar. Two blue-uniformed figures were reflected in that mirror.
    Ray’s mouth fell open, and he turned accusing eyes on his father.
    “I called them,” Mr. Stone said, a peculiar sadness around his mouth. “They’ll cure you, Ray.”
    Ray pushed his chair back quickly, darting a hasty glance at the figures in the mirror again.
    “Cure me? With what? The electric chair?”
    He looked again at the mirror, saw one of the cops draw his revolver. Quickly, he snatched the wallet off the table, stuffed it into his jacket, and ran to the piano standing against the back wall. Silently, he thanked his memory, thanked the fact that he’d chosen a place he knew well. Without hesitation, he pitted his shoulder against the piano, felt the muscles tighten as he heaved. The piano rolled away, revealing an exit door bolted with a huge two-by-four on metal brackets. He lifted the lumber, dropped it heavily to the floor.
    “Ray!” his father called. “Come back! They’ll help you!”
    “I don’t need their help,” Ray shouted as he threw open the door. The bright sunlight hurt his eyes for a moment, and he shielded them with his hand. He looked into the room once more, saw one of the cops raise his gun, heard the blast as the cop fired over his head into the ceiling.
    He ran out into the alley,