The Lost: Book Two, The Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 2) Read Free

drinking ouzo.
    Kindler said, “I really believe in a higher power. Somebody’s up there watching. Fate. Things happen for a reason. You’re here, I’m here, this bar was put here, George is the …” indler’s voice dropped off and he shook his head as if that would clear his jumbled thoughts.
    “What I’m saying is, the timing is key. We’ve reached critical mass and here you are.”
    Eddie said nothing.
    Kindler started up again suddenly, like an old lawn mower. “The Mill is, unfortunately, going to close. Nothing we can do about it. That’s how it is. You know? And you’re here now. Just when things are heating up.”
    Eddie took a long drink from the beer.
    “Not to strike a discordant note, Kindler, but I’ve got no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
    Kindler gave Eddie the stiff one eye then shook it off. “I know who you are, Eddie McCloskey.”
    This caught Eddie off-guard. He tensed and wondered if that explained Deputy Dog’s presence. He hadn’t done anything illegal.
    Kindler leaned ever closer. His pupils were dilated. Guy was probably on something and the booze was amping up the effects.
    Kindler killed his Canadian Club and chased it with the beer. “I know who you are and I could use your help.”
    “I don’t know what you want but I promise I can’t help.”
    Eddie tried to stand up. There wasn’t enough room in the booth, and the table butted against his thighs. Whitmore again didn’t move and his eyes went from neutral to hostile without stopping at interested.
    “You’ll hear Mr. Kindler out,” Whitmore said. “Or there’ll be trouble. Just like us folks, I’m sure the good people of New Jersey take a dim view of parole violators.”
    Kindler grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Please. Just hear me out.”
    Eddie broke Kindler’s hold of his wrist by executing an elbow flick he’d learned in tae kwon do as a kid.
    “The hell are you talking about, parole violation?”
    “Pot’s illegal in this state, McCloskey.”
    “What’s that got to do with me?” Eddie said.
    “We both know what I’m talking about.” Whitmore’s eyes narrowed to venetian blinds.
    Eddie could see the meanness behind those eyes now. Whitmore was enjoying himself. He was waiting for Eddie to do something stupid. He would show the drifter who the man was. He was Hitler, without the charm.
    Drifting was proving to be problematic. Third town this year, since he’d left the joint.
    And he was starting to like this little town. Nice library, couple of passable bars, some willing women both single and married, though nowadays he shied away from the married ones. He’d been on the receiving end of one too many cuckolded fists. There was nothing as disconcerting as a wronged husband armed with an assault rifle.
    Whitmore’s accusation surprised Eddie, but he knew the source of the problem. His co-worker, Ana, had thrown an impromptu get-together two weeks ago. He had no business hanging out with a bunch of twenty-year-olds, but he had nothing better to do and he liked Ana. Then someone broke out the ganga and passed around a community joint. It had been so long that Eddie was tempted. He looked at the joint for a moment, knowing that one drag was harmless, but all the same drugs had landed him in prison and he wasn’t going back.
    He’d passed the joint along, not taking a hit.
    “I haven’t smoked any pot, Lieutenant.”
    “Let’s not get excited.” Kindler was trying to smooth things over. “We’re all reasonable men. Rational animals. Homo sapiens.”
    Eddie ignored him. “Charge me. I know a good lawyer.”
    “All the trouble you’ve been in, I’ll bet you do,” Whitmore said.
    An iceberg slid down Eddie’s spine. These guys had done their homework. They knew about his past. They had him and everybody knew it. He was cornered. Fear and anger washed over him. He had to listen to this Kindler clown now and make like he was interested in what he had to say. First chance he got he’d