Free City of Night by Dean Koontz Page B

happened to my dad?” Carson asked.
    Aubrey said, “That was all bogus. Your dad didn’t turn. He was a good cop to the end.”
    “I know. But thanks for saying it, Aubrey.”
    When he cocked his head in the sun hat, he looked like Truman Capote in ladies-going-to-lunch drag. “You telling me you know who really waxed him and your mom?”
    “Yeah,” she lied.
    “Just who pulled the trigger or who ordered it to be pulled?”
    “We’re at the top of the food chain with this guy,” she said.
    Looking at Michael, Aubrey said, “So when you punch his ticket, it’s going to be big news.”
    Staying mostly mute and playing half dumb had worked well for Michael. He shrugged.
    Aubrey wasn’t satisfied with a shrug. “You’ll probably be killed doing this.”
    “Nobody lives forever,” Michael said.
    “Lulana says we all do. Anyway, this is O’Connor’s vengeance. Why should you die for it?”
    “We’re partners,” Michael said.
    “That’s not it. Partners don’t commit suicide for each other.”
    “I think we can pull it off,” Michael said, “and walk away.”
    A sly smile robbed the old man’s pinchable face of its previous innocence. “That’s not it, either.”
    Grimacing, Carson said, “Aubrey, don’t make him say it.”
    “I just need to hear something that makes his commitment believable.”
    “This isn’t going to snap back on you,” she promised.
    “Maybe, maybe not. I’m almost convinced. I know your motive, darlin’. His, I want to hear.”
    “Don’t say it,” Carson warned Michael.
    “Well, he already knows,” Michael said.
    “That’s the point. He already knows. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He’s just being a pissant.”
    “Now, darlin’, don’t hurt old Aubrey’s feelings. Michael, why in blazes would you want to do this?”
    “Because—”
    “Don’t,” said Carson.
    “—I love her.”
    Carson said, “Shit.”
    Aubrey Picou laughed with delight. “I am a fool for romance. You give me your cell-phone number, and the man with the goods will call you inside two hours, to tell you how and where.”
    “Aubrey Picou, I should make you eat these roses,” Carson said, shaking the French Perfume and the Black Velvet in his face.
    “Seeing as how they’ve been flavored by your sweet hands, I suspect I’d like the taste.”
    She threw the roses on the ground. “For that, you owe me one. I want to borrow the money to pay for the guns.”
    Aubrey laughed. “Why would I do that?”
    “Because we once saved your life. And I don’t have several thousand stuffed in a sock.”
    “Darlin’, I’m not a man with a reputation for generosity.”
    “That’s part of what Lulana’s been trying to tell you.”
    He frowned. “This makes me more of a party to it.”
    “Not if the loan is on a handshake. No paperwork.”
    “I don’t mean legally. I mean morally.”
    Michael thought his hearing had failed. The word couldn’t have been morally .
    “Just making the connection for the deal isn’t so bad,” Aubrey said, “’cause I’m not taking a commission, I make nothing from it. But if I finance it, even interest-free…”
    This clearly surprised Carson. “Interest-free?”
    “Seems like I’ve got some responsibility that way.” Under his big floppy hat, he now looked more worried than absurd. “This Jesus guy is scary.”
    “Scary?”
    “I mean, if he’s half as real as Lulana says—”
    “Half as real?”
    “—then you have to think consequences.”
    “Aubrey,” Carson said, “no offense, but considering the way you’ve lived your life, I don’t think scary old Jesus is going to make a big issue out of you loaning me money for this.”
    “Maybe not. But I’ve been trying to change the kind of person I am.”
    “You have ?”
    Aubrey took off his hat, wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, and at once put the hat on again. “They all know who I used to be, but Lulana, Evangeline, and Moses—they treat me with