A Murder of Crows Read Free

PLUS
    THE DRY HOT AIR OF LAS VEGAS HIT DECKER LIKE A STEAMROLLER. He shielded his eyes by pulling down his Djuma Game Reserve baseball cap. He never wore sunglasses because he valued the accuracy of his sight too much to allow a coloured lens between what was out there and what he saw.
    He flipped open the new cell phone Eddie had insisted that he buy and called Eddie, who picked up on the first ring. “You asked me to call when I finished. I never do that—why this time?”
    â€œBecause you rented a suite at the Bellagio.”
    â€œI did?”
    â€œYou did—well, your credit card did. Can’t have you staying in the Paris of the Desert all by your lonesome—too sad.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œSo you’re in Vegas?”
    â€œAcross the street, genius.”
    Decker looked across Fremont, and there was Eddie, waving like he’d found a long-lost friend.
    Taking his life in his hands, Decker crossed the six lanes of traffic to Eddie. “Which way?”
    â€œTo our hotel?”
    â€œYeah.”
    Eddie pointed. Decker moved.
    â€œWe’re going to walk? Nobody in Vegas walks.”
    â€œI walk.”
    â€œSo I see,” Eddie said, catching up by using the strange hop/hobble he’d had to adopt since he snapped his Achilles tendon all those years ago on the Ledbury Park playing field.
    â€œHow’d you find me, Eddie?”
    â€œRemember me? The one who sets up gigs for you?”
    â€œRight. Were you followed, Eddie?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHow’d you manage that?”
    â€œSame as you.”
    â€œYou left through the old steam tunnels?”
    â€œFirst to the generator station, then a cab to Hamilton Airport—nobody serious watches Hamilton Airport. Used my new passport.”
    â€œWho are you this time?”
    â€œRoberto Clemente, humanitarian, Hall of Famer—”
    â€œAnd dead—and Puerto Rican.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œWould I lie to you?”
    â€œDo tell.”
    Despite himself, Decker smiled and said, “Welcome to Las Vegas.”
    â€œThanks—this is my kind of town,” Eddie said, pulling out a pair of wraparound yellow sunglasses as he tipped his hat to two young women—clearly hookers. “And a very fine day to you too, ladies.” The women ignored Eddie. “You know it’s raining in the Junction.”
    â€œNo kidding.”
    â€œIt’s sunny here, you may have noticed.”
    â€œIt’s always sunny in Las Vegas.”
    â€œNow why’s that?”
    â€œCause God has a weird sense of humour.”
    â€œWhy do you hate Las Vegas?”
    â€œI don’t—hate it, that is.”
    â€œBut you don’t like it.”
    â€œWell I don’t like Dupont Avenue either, but—”
    â€œNah, nah, nah there’s something here that annoys you. Let me guess—the relentless pursuit of money, the greed—”
    â€œNo. I actually like the energy those things give this place.”
    â€œThe lack of class, then. Fat ladies in shorts, smoking as they plug the one-armed bandits while their half-naked no-neck monsters terrorize the help?”
    â€œThe visual is none too pleasing, but that’s not it.”
    â€œWell, what pray tell is it?”
    Decker thought for a second then said, “It’s wildness without restraint to give it form.”
    Eddie stopped and turned Decker to him. “Run that by me again.”
    â€œWell come on, Eddie, you sense the wildness here.”
    â€œFor sure.”
    â€œIt’s unleashed—money and greed have unleashed it.”
    â€œBut that’s not what pisses you off about Las Vegas? The wildness?”
    â€œNo, it’s not. It’s the lost potential. There’s no sternness here forcing that wildness into any form.”
    â€œYou already said that, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”
    â€œDo you remember Fanny