Holy Terror Read Online Free Page B

‘You’re saying what?’
    â€˜I’m saying… it’s hard to make any kind of identification, that’s all.’
    â€˜In what respect?’
    Salvatore laid the pad back on Conor’s desk. ‘In the respect that these customers look like two chickens.’
    Conor had to hand it to Salvatore. His lips didn’t twitch, even infinitesimally. Conor picked up the pad and stared at it for a moment, breathing noisily through both nostrils. As worried as he was, he needed a lot of extra oxygen to stop himself from laughing.
    â€˜You don’t think you might have seen them, though? These, ah, chickens?’
    Salvatore was about to answer when his phone played the first four bars of ‘Swanee River’, the Florida state song. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said, and took it out of his pocket. ‘Spurr’s Fifth Avenue security, Deputy Chief Security Officer Salvatore Morales speaking.’ He kept looking at Conor as he said, ‘Yes. Unh-hunh. OK. I’ll be right out.’
    â€˜Listen, Sal—’ Conor began, but Salvatore said, ‘Brinks-Mat have arrived, sir. I don’t want to keep them waiting.’
    â€˜All right. We’ll talk about these two jokers later. But in the meantime, you can ease off on the “sir”.’
    Salvatore said, ‘If I was in your position, sir, I would expect everybody to call me “sir”. To be called “sir”, that means you have earned something, that you have worked for it.’
    And I haven’t
? thought Conor, remembering the night beneath the Brooklyn Bridge when the Pratolini brothers had stamped on the small of his back and almost paralyzed him for life.
    * * *
    Salvatore went out to deal with the Brinks-Mat delivery and Conor made a call home. It took Lacey over a minute to answer.
    â€˜I’m sorry, my darling,’ she said. ‘I was right up on top of the stepladder, painting the ceiling.’
    â€˜Well, I’m glad that one of us doesn’t mind climbing stepladders, otherwise our walls would only be painted halfway up.’
    â€˜You know, you should talk to Bryan about your vertigo. Do you know that he counseled the Great Bardini once, when he lost his nerve on the high wire?’
    â€˜I must be the only person I know who needs a lifestyle counselor to remodel his home.’
    â€˜Oh, no, you’re not. Jennie Feinstein does Tantric meditation before she chooses her cushion covers.’
    â€˜I thought Tantric meditation was all about sex.’
    â€˜It is. And you should see her cushions.’
    Conor pried opened the lid of his lunchbox and looked at his apple. He was starting to feel hungry again. Lacey said, ‘How did you get on in court?’
    He told her. She listened, but all she said was, ‘That woman, I don’t know.’ She didn’t give him any sympathy about Fay. She knew that it hurt too much, like poking a loose filling.
    He said, ‘Listen, I’ll see you at six. I thought we could eat out tonight, seeing as you’ve been painting all day.’
    â€˜No, let’s stay in. I’m cooking French tonight.’
    â€˜Don’t tell me. Rare
entrecôte
steak with potatoes baked in cream, and rum baba for dessert?’
    â€˜Unh-hunh. Chard stalks in cheese sauce, followed by organic rhubarb yogurt.’
    â€˜You’re going to kill me, with all this healthy food.’
    He was still talking when Salvatore reappeared in his office doorway. Salvatore’s eyes were wide and his face looked sweaty and colorless and tight, like a shiny gray balloon.
    â€˜Sal?’ said Conor.
    â€˜Um, put down the phone, sir,’ said Salvatore, clearing his throat.
    â€˜What? What are you talking about?’
    â€˜Please put down the phone, sir. Don’t say one more word.’
    Conor hesitated. He could hear Lacey saying, ‘
Hello? Conor? Conor, what’s happening
?’ He could sense that something