The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery Read Online Free

right, this is a light case, and maybe I could use someone else, but the fact is that I trust you. And maybe in some way we can at least get to the point where it doesn’t hurt to think about each other. We had a lot of good times, life’s short and I’d like to be able to count you as a friend again.”
    â€œYou promise this isn’t a job for the cops?”
    She repressed her fear poorly. “I can’t go to the police.” She guiltily eyed the customers, knowing that she had spoken too loud.
    Nastos glanced around then smiled reassuringly. “No one here speaks English, Karen.”
    She didn’t smile back. Instead, she lifted a file from the seat next to her and slid it across to Nastos. He flipped open the first page. Karen had chosen the picture carefully. It was a picture of a young woman and man together. The woman was pretty enough but tired looking. It looked like a self-snap from a cellphone, the two of them mugging for the camera while walking down Yonge Street. The page opposite was the front page of the
Toronto Tribune
dated a few days ago. The headline read “Body Found at Trinity Bellwoods Park.”
    Nastos read a bit of the article that had been clipped next to the cut-out. “Rob Walker, who’s he?”
    â€œGood question.”
    Nastos eyed her suspiciously. “Okay, who’s Ann Falconer?”
    â€œShe’s working on a story with me.”
    â€œWhat about?”
    â€œThe death of the man she’s with in that picture.”
    â€œRob Walker, then.”
    â€œBut that’s not his real name.”
    â€œOkay, so what is?”
    â€œThat’s what I want you to find out. What’s his real name, why was he murdered?”
    He grunted noncommittally and read more of the article. “Solving murders, sounds kinda like something a cop would do.”
    â€œYeah, well, that might be part of the problem.” Karen began to feel guilty for holding back and let slip some more information. “We, uhh, think it might have been an organized thing.”
    â€œIt says here he was shot, probably during a drug deal.”
    She gave him a hard stare.
    â€œRight. Don’t believe everything I read in a newspaper article. So whoever killed him, this Mr. Rob Walker, knew his real name, whatever that is.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI must have missed your answer. Why don’t you just go to the police?”
    She rubbed her eyes and looked at the table before answering. “It’s complicated.” She bit her lip.
    â€œKaren, does whoever did this know about you?”
    â€œMaybe.” She thought longer and made herself say it. “Yeah, I think they do.”

3
    Radix and Morrison approached BMO Field, slowed the truck, and parked in the south lot. The stadium and lot could hold 20,000 thrill-seeking football fans if Canada could find them. The place was seldom used and a good place for this kind of transaction. Morrison reached into the back of the truck and grabbed a small black duffle bag he had bought at Mountain Equipment Co-op for this express purpose. He stuffed the money in it.
    Morrison said, “Stay here, I’ll do it this time.”
    â€œI was planning on it.” Radix replied without looking. He turned the keys in the ignition so he could listen to the radio then grabbed a Bud Light from the back seat.
    Morrison noted with some annoyance that Radix had put it on station 104 . 5 , that dance shit he listened to when he had to fight falling asleep on a slow night shift. He snarled, “I hate your fucking guts,” then slammed the passenger door shut and stormed off toward BMO Field.
    Prince’s Boulevard was dead but he trotted across the asphalt anyways, finding himself adjusting his stride to step on the white dashes, knowing full well that he had crossed much more important lines what seemed like a lifetime ago. As he grew closer to the stadium the anger he felt for Radix