Read Online Murder Takes a Break by Bill Crider - Free Book Online Page A

had a weathered face with watery gray eyes, and a nose that had been broken at least once.   She'd probably run into a door.
    Her full first name was Alice, but probably no one had called her that in thirty years.   Well, no one but Henry J.   I wondered where he was.   I had been sure from the first that Big Al hadn't come alone, and the empty chair beside her proved that I was right.
    Dino set the tackle down and said, "Where's Henry J.?"
    "What?" Big Al said.   "No 'Hi, Big Al,' no greeting for an old friend?"
    Dino put the tackle and bait bucket down.   "Hi, Big Al."
    "Hi, yourself.   You boys think you're going to catch some fish today?"
    "We might," I said.   "Let's bait up, Dino."
    I could tell by the look on his face that Dino found the idea of putting live shrimp on a hook about as appealing as cleaning out a cat's litter box with his bare hands, so I knelt down by the bait bucket and got busy.
    "Dino's too delicate for that kind of work," Big Al said.   She patted the arm of the empty chair.   "Here you go, Dino, have a seat by me and tell me what's been happening your life.   How long's it been since we talked, anyway?   Five years?   Ten?"
    Dino looked at the empty chair, but he didn't make a move to sit in it.  
    "We haven't talked in a long time.   I haven't counted the years.   Where's Henry J.?"
    "He went to the snack bar to get me a Co' Cola and some chips.   You boys bring anything to drink with you?"
    "No," I said.   "We didn't think about it."
    I'd gotten one rig ready.   I stood up and backed away from the water to make my cast.   The line spun smoothly off the reel, and the bait landed noiselessly in the choppy water.   The wind over the bay was so freighted with humidity that my own hair was going to be as curly as Big Al's if we stayed on Pelican Island for very long.
    "Here," I said, handing the rod to Dino, who took it reluctantly, holding it out and away from his body as if it might infect him with the Ebola virus if it got too close.
    "You do a lot of fishing, Dino," Big Al said.   "I can tell.
    Dino didn't answer.   He just looked out at the line as if he were expecting a great white shark to take his hook and yank him into the bay.
    Big Al watched Dino for a minute and then looked back over her shoulder.
    "Here comes Henry J. now," she said.   "If I'd known you boys were coming, I'd have had him get you a Co' Cola, too."
    "Tru likes Big Red," Dino said.
    Big Al shook her head at my bad taste as Henry J. arrived beside her chair.   He was about six-four, with the build of a retired linebacker who'd kept in shape.   He was wearing a long-billed fishing cap, but I knew that underneath it he was completely bald, with a bumpy skull that a nineteenth century phrenologist would have considered a prize trophy.   He was wearing a T-shirt that was even tighter than Big Al's, and his had a different picture — a black revolver — and a different slogan — "Fight Crime.   Shoot Back."   His nose had been broken a lot.   The bridge was jagged as lightning.   I was pretty sure he hadn't run into any doors.
    He handed a paper cup and a bag of chips to Big Al and said, "What're these assholes doing here?"
    I made a cast with my second rod, looked to the left and to the right, and said, "What assholes?"
    "You never were very funny, Smith," he said.   "No matter what you think.   Ain't that what you say, Dino?"
    There was a story that one of the breaks in Henry J.'s nose was a result of some old disagreement between him and Dino that had ended in a brief flurry of fisticuffs.   It had happened when I was off the Island, though, and I didn't know the story.   I'd never asked.   I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
    "I'm glad to see you, too, Henry J.," Dino said, still staring at his fishing line.   "How's your nose?"
    "You son-of-a-bitch," Henry J. said.   He thrust his cup at Big Al.   "Hold