Free The Ophelia Cut by John Lescroart Page A

had been there on his arrival. The other two cabinets held various canned foods and coffee and Top Ramen and spaghetti. The color scheme of the walls and counters was pale yellow, with the occasional brown water spot for accent. Bracketed on one side by a scratched end table and three-way lamp and on the other by the unit’s only chair, a mostly black couch of indeterminate fabric sagged under the windows. He had no television. A tiny closet and bathroom took up the rest of the footprint.
    Solaia rolled over, put his bare feet on the floor, and stood up. He raised the bed into the back wall and closed the doors over it, instantly tripling his living space. In the bathroom, he peed and brushed his teeth, then took a two-minute shower.
    His dinner table folded out of the side wall opposite the refrigerator, and ten minutes after his shower, he was sitting down to a bowl of Dinty Moore’s beef stew that he’d cooked on his one hot plate, chased by a sixteen-ounce can of Coors Light. He was dressed in clean jeans, hiking boots, and a stylish Jhane Barnes sweater.
    After rinsing the dishes, he sat at the table, pulled out his cell phone, and punched up a number he’d marked as a favorite.
    On the second ring: “Tony. How you doin’?”
    “Hey, Frank. I’m doin’ okay. Going on the assumption that you didn’t see my name in the papers?”
    “No. What happened? You make up another fancy cocktail?”
    “Not this time.”
    “You really shouldn’t be getting your name in the paper, Tony. This or any time. No picture, I pray to God.”
    “I’m hoping that, too. I don’t remember any pictures.”
    “Well, there’s a plus. Pictures really wouldn’t be good.”
    “I hear you. I kind of remembered that from the initial briefing. It wasn’t something I had control over, but I don’t think there were any pictures.”
    “Okay.” Pause. “So what happened?” Tony told him. When he finished, Frank asked, “Who’s this lawyer?”
    “Just a guy I met where I swim in the mornings.”
    “Does he know?”
    “No. I don’t know why he would.”
    “So why’d he come down and pick you out?”
    “Luck of the draw, I guess. I think he’s just a good guy who thought he could help.”
    “Right. From all the lawyers who grow on the good-guy lawyer tree.” A mirthless chuckle. “Okay, what else?”
    “Well, what else is, I’m out of a job.”
    Frank’s sigh echoed in the cell phone. “What do you want me to do about that?”
    “Nothing at the moment. I’m in wait mode, see what happens to the bar. Hardy—the lawyer?—he says Rome is probably going to reopen in a couple of days. Meanwhile, I can make a week or two, but if it doesn’t reopen, I’ll need something else.”
    “All right,” Frank said. “I’ll keep my eyes open. Another bar, I presume?”
    “I’ve got experience in bars. That would be easiest. Hardy’s offered me some shifts in the place he owns.”
    “This good-guy lawyer also owns a bar and says he’ll hire you?”
    “Strange as it seems.”
    “It seems like a miracle, you ask me. This guy have wings?”
    “Not that I saw.”
    “Jesus. All right.” Short pause. “So. Did they print you?”
    “Sure.”
    Another sigh. “I’ll have to talk to somebody down there, then. If they run you for outstandings . . .” He let the phrase hang.
    “I get it, Frank. That’s why I called. I thought you’d want to know.”
    “I’ve got to know, Tony. Your cover gets blown, guess who takes the hit for it? Your friendly U.S. Marshal, that’s who.”
    “It wasn’t my fault, Frank.”
    “It wasn’t you pouring drinks for the kids?”
    “I poured the drinks, but I didn’t know they were kids. They had IDs. They got stamped at the door. Not my fault.”
    “No. I guess not. But not the best luck, either.”
    “No,” Solaia said, “no, it wasn’t.”

6
    B RITTANY WAS STARTING to wonder if this was the way it always would be.
    Last night she’d been waiting at the Shamrock, passing the