The Innocents Nathan Senthil (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📖

a PC. The idea of the Mafia using computers for data storage amused Joshua. The civilian part of him fathomed the practicality while the detective side appreciated the fact that nothing entered into the system could ever truly be deleted, not unless you obliterated the hard drives.

There was a kitchenette in the right wall, and the pleasant smell of cheese wafted from it. Not mozzarella. Something else. Something with a strong flavor. He had eaten it with meatballs or crispy chicken at authentic Italian restaurants back home. Parmesan, he guessed.

A fat person, with a crutch extending from his left elbow, was whistling as he waddled along the counter, cluttering cookware and china. He took a pair of tongs from the utensil holder and picked a huge brick of lasagna from the rectangular glass dish. He laid it on a white plate on the counter, where already a few scoops of garlic-prosciutto Brussels sprouts were strewn. He added two dollops of butter atop, letting it melt by the heat of the food.

Joshua found himself salivating. Roman must be one hell of a gastronome. He waved the bartender over and motioned at his mound of fat-adder. “Put it on the desk.”

Then he turned, licking the tips of the tong and tossing it into the dishwasher.

Roman must be in his seventies. He blobbed like he ate bacon for food and drank beer for water. Joshua’s attention crossed Roman’s colossal midsection and slipped to his left leg. The pant, though loose, couldn’t entirely hide the wreckage beneath. The knee arched back and formed a hideously zigzagged joint. Seeing it without cringing was a feat.

“What the fuck you staring at?” Roman turned and walked towards his desk.

Joshua hadn’t realized Roman was talking to him until Peter nudged him. He was transfixed by the deformity. Could really one bullet destroy a leg like that? Joshua had seen firsthand the detrimental prowess of Lolly’s anti-aircraft gun, but usually the wounds were in the head. Now to see it in a different body part induced morbid curiosity in him.

Peter walked behind Roman and Joshua followed him.

He tried his best not to look at the back of Roman’s knee, which accentuated the damage as he walked. He tried and failed. Even though the crutch supported most of Roman’s weight, his left leg folded back unnaturally in the middle and something blunt protruded as it did. A shiver ran up Joshua’s spine, forcing him to look away.

With the barkeeper’s help, Roman maneuvered his ass onto the chair.

Joshua began. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“What you know about Lolly?” Roman asked as he shoved a spoonful of food into his face hole.

“Everything there is to know about him,” Peter said.

“Everything about him, uh?” His words distorted as he spoke. “Where’s he now? What’s his name?”

Peter bit his lower lip and snapped his fingers. “Except those.”

Roman glowered at them, giving each at least a two-second stare. “Are you here to ruin my dinner, which by extension means, your faces. Who’re you, clowns?”

“I’m Joshua Chase. I used to be an NYPD detective.”

“Detective Chase?” Roman frowned. “Why does that name ring a bell?”

“It’s my son. He caught a serial killer back home and became a national sensation.”

“Oh yeah, that’s correct. Mr. Bunny, right? Crazy shit, that. He must be really smart, your son—” Roman paused mid-chew and stared at a blank space on the desk. Apparently, he couldn’t think when his mouth was at work. Explained why he ate so much without fearing diabetes or ticker failure.

“Can you help us?”

Roman broke out of his trance. “How?”

“Talk to us about a truck hijacking in nineteen—”

“Not this again.” Roman dropped the spoon and leaned back on his chair.

“We just need some basic details,” Joshua said.

“What makes you think I’ll tell you even if I know? I ain’t no fucking turncoat.”

“Just tell us who hijacked the truck?” Peter said. “We’re not asking you to testify.”

“Testify?” Roman smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Get the fuck out of here, you two!”

* * *

Both climbed into the car, Joshua taking the wheel.

“Well, that was a farce,” Peter said.

“I expected as much. Tried the easy way, but predictably, it didn’t pan out.” Joshua eased the Audi into the traffic.

As they exited the dingy neighborhood, Joshua felt dreadful. Something was wrong.

He angled the rearview and found a black SUV driving behind them. While most other vehicles behind them either changed direction or overtook them, the SUV maintained a steady pace and interval.

But a few minutes later, when Joshua pulled the car over in front of a shoddy hotel in downtown, the SUV drove past without slowing or speeding.

Joshua sighed, chiding his brain. Why would anyone tail him? His overactive amygdala was crying wolf. Tired, having travelled for a long time, his head vibrated constantly. And the bar full of criminals had given him the jitters. He needed a stiff meal, a hot bath, and bed.

Joshua got down from the car and opened the back door. A notebook that he had placed on the seat when they started their journey lay down on the floor.

Cursing that he had to bend, he retrieved the notebook and dusted it off.

They went in and booked two rooms. As the receptionist filled the forms, Peter pointedly looked at the notebook. “You’re gonna make me ask?”

“This is the culmination of all my work relating to Lolly. Years of investigation, stripped of drama and bullshit, leaving only the cold, useful facts. I’ve been writing it since ‘93.”

“Why?”

“I don’t…” Joshua searched for the right way to explain without sounding emotional. “This is my life’s work right here. I want someone to pick up where I left off, you know, if I die before solving the case. Or worse. If anything happened to—”

“Nothing will happen to