Breacher (Tom Keeler Book 2) Jack Lively (important of reading books TXT) 📖

I told him it was the correct order of things, to my mind at least. When the server said that he approved of the chocolate on top and vanilla on the bottom decision, the guy in the window grunted in disagreement. He said, “Two scoops of the same flavor. Avoids all problems.”

Looking through the window over his head, I saw the trimmed-beard guy again. He came from the right side, going downhill. But now he was with the Oxford shirt guy, who was holding a balled-up tissue to his nose.

The other customer in the ice cream place was scraping the inside of his cardboard cup with a stubby plastic scoop; he hadn’t opted for a cone. I looked over his shoulder through the large window. The two conspirators across the street had stopped on the sidewalk, huddled together, speaking on the phone with someone else, maybe the blonde girl.

The two guys stopped talking and started walking. From right to left, down the hill. The guy in the window stood up slow, and at the same time crumpled the cardboard cup in his fist. He was tracking the two across the street. He didn’t bother to look around when he called out, “Thanks for the ice cream.”

The guy dropped his garbage in the trash can and walked out the door. I gave him a thirty second head start before following.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the mustachioed ice cream eater was following the two guys, and that he didn’t know me from Adam. So now I was following him, watching him follow them. Like a math equation. Them following me, following him, following them.

I stayed back as far as I thought prudent, while still keeping him in sight. The two across the street were oblivious. They weren’t even looking out for a tail. The mustachioed guy slowed down and pretended to look into the window of an outdoor sports store. The two across the street were coming to the bottom of the hill. I walked by the mustachioed guy from the ice cream store. There was a small square of grass to my left. On the other side of it was another foot bridge over another salmon creek. I found a bench facing down to the intersection and sat on it.

The blonde girl was waiting for the two guys at the bottom of the hill, a little above where Bryant crosses Water Street. I put the ice cream cone in front of my face and licked at it slowly. Just a guy with a beard, licking ice cream. The mustachioed man was still at the outdoor goods store, flicking through a rack of sunglasses. He was using the little mirror there to keep an eye on the group.

They had come together now. Looked like the girl was in charge. She was talking, the others listening. She examined the big guy’s nose. He was tall, but so was she. Tall enough not to have to reach up to examine the cut. The blood had dripped onto the guy’s shirt.

After a minute or two, the three of them turned and walked the short way down to Water Street. The cruise ship loomed at the dock across the road, like a floating city with gangways. One to the right, maybe a hundred yards away. Another to the left, maybe two hundred yards away.

A shiny black Chevy Suburban pulled to the curb. The girl opened the passenger door, revealing a cream leather interior, like the inside of a snake’s mouth. The two guys piled in the back and the girl got in the front. I couldn’t see the driver. Thirty seconds later the Suburban was gone.

I watched the mustachioed guy walk after them. When he reached Water Street, a Subaru 4x4 pulled up, painted a fancy dark blue green. The word ‘teal’ crawled up out of some dark recess of my brain, like an unwanted guest. Another guy came out of the Subaru. He had a light-colored beard and long hair tucked behind his ears and wore a John Deere hat. I watched the two of them converse for maybe thirty seconds. The new guy got back into the car. The mustachioed guy stayed. The Subaru took off in the same direction as the big Chevy.

I watched the guy with the mustache. He was looking up at the cruise ship. It was blocking the sunlight. I counted the floors. The ship had eight levels, like an extra wide tower block apartment building. The ship had a name, The Emerald Allure. I wondered why anyone would voluntarily walk up that gangway. Looked like the perfect place to catch a virus, like a floating experiment in epidemiology. The guy started walking along the dock.

I concentrated on finishing the ice cream. When I had finished, I turned my jacket back around and put it on. I got up, slung on my backpack, and walked after him.

Four

Them following me, following him, following them. The equation had changed. Now it was just me following him.

The guy represented a group, evidenced by the other guy in the teal Subaru. Therefore, two groups in some kind of conflict. Or maybe not yet in conflict. There was the question of why the first bunch was after me specifically.

Half of me wanted to know more, and the other half didn’t. The other half was pretty happy to get the hell out of Port Morris and down to Seattle. The salmon season was over, and I was done with Alaska. It had been a fine experience, but I had already mentally placed Alaska in the past tense.

It had started in Seattle, at Ivar’s Fish Bar. Halibut fish and chips had been excellent. I was eating alone, standing on the deck at a high round outside table. Looking out to the ocean. Seattle had been fun. There was a girl. She liked me, and I liked her. She was traveling through the continental United States from east to west. Couldn’t go much further