Dreams Die First Read Online Free Page B

broke in half. I had had no business feeling sorry then and I had no business feeling sorry now. Not for the kid who tried to hit me last night or for this asshole, who was willing to go along while Lonergan ripped me off.
    I turned to Verita. “Let’s go. We’re not catching the Hollywood Express.”
    She began to get up. Persky grabbed my arm. “But Lonergan said—”
    Roughly I shook my arm free. “I don’t give a damn what Lonergan said. Lonergan wants your paper, let him buy it. With his money, not with mine.”
    “The Collector’s coming back for you at seven. What should I tell him?”
    “You can tell him what I told you. He can give Lonergan the message. I’m going home.”

CHAPTER 5
    Verita had left her car at my place, so we walked home. It took us about an hour.
    “I’ll go home now,” she said as we reached the apartment.
    “No, come upstairs. I have a bottle of wine. We can have a drink. I want to thank you for what you’ve done.”
    She laughed. “It was fun. I had six years of training for this kind of work and today was the first time I ever got a chance to use it.”
    Something hit me. “You’re not talking Chicano.”
    She laughed. “That’s for the unemployment office. Accountants speak another language.”
    I found myself with a new respect for her. “Come on up,” I said. “I promise we’ll talk American.”
    She looked up at me out of the corner of her slightly slanted eyes. “But—the boy?”
    I smiled at her. “He’s probably gone by now.”
    But I was wrong.
    The delicious odor of roast beef greeted us as we came through the door. The table was set for two—china, crystal, linen napkins and heavy silver flatware and candlesticks.
    “You live pretty good,” Verita said, looking at me.
    “None of those things are mine. I never saw them before.”
    I went into the kitchen. The boy was standing in front of the oven. He was dressed in a light plaid jacket and white linen slacks, a St. Laurent foulard tied casually inside the collar of his silk shirt. He turned as I came in. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.” He smiled. “Go back inside and relax. I’ll be right out to fix you a drink.”
    Without answering, I turned back to the living room. “He says he’ll be right in to fix us a drink,” I said in a stunned voice.
    She laughed. “Looks like you came up with a winner.”
    The boy came in from the kitchen, went over to the small hutch on the wall and opened it. The bottles were neatly arranged on the shelf—vodka, gin, scotch, vermouth. Without saying anything, he took some ice from a golden bucket, put it in a glass and poured scotch over it. He turned to me, holding it out. “You drink scotch if I remember?”
    I nodded as I took the drink. He turned to Verita. “What would you like?”
    “Vodka tonic?” Her voice was questioning.
    He nodded and came up with a bottle of tonic from a lower shelf. Quickly he fixed her drink. She took it and we both stood there staring at him. He gestured toward the couch. “I rolled a few joints,” he said. “They’re with the cigarettes in the box on the coffee table. Why don’t you just have a few tokes? It will help you relax. You both look a little uptight.”
    “Hey—” I called as he went through the door to the kitchen.
    He turned. “Yes?”
    “Where did all this come from?”
    “I just called up and ordered it.”
    “You called up and ordered it?” I repeated. “Just like that?”
    He nodded. “They were very nice. I told them to rush because I needed everything for dinner.”
    I looked at him suspiciously. “They didn’t ask you for money or anything?”
    “Why should they? I just charged it.”
    I was getting punchy. “You ever stop to think how I’m going to pay for it? I haven’t any money.”
    “That’s nothing. I told you I’m rich.”
    “When did you tell me?”
    “Last night. Don’t you remember?”
    I shook my head. “I don’t remember anything about last