Title:Tunnel Vision (V.I. Warshawski Novel)
Author(s): Sara Paretsky
Publisher(s): Dell
Pages: 480
Year: 1995
Format: EPUB
Language: English
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What was I doing trying to patch the hulk of the Pulteney together when it would only fall down around me in a few weeks? It typified my whole approach to life: enormous energy sunk into mending lives or causes that could never be made whole. Behind every patch great leaks sprang anyway.
Even the bureau in front of me, bought at a flea market with the sincere intention of stripping and refinishing it—there’s solid walnut under there, the friend who’d gone with me, an expert in these matters, said. Five years later the chipped brown paint had become part of the customary backdrop of my life.
I pulled the sheet over my head, blocking out the spider and the bureau. When the phone rang I let it drag out, hoping the caller would go away. Finally, my eyes hot with grit, I stuck my arm outside the sheet and picked up the receiver.
“Morning, beautiful. How were the rich and famous?”
It was Conrad Rawlings, who’d been working the owl shift lately. I sat up, feeling more lively. “They wore me out. I haven’t gotten up yet. What was your haul last night?”
“Six gunshots, one fatal, a stabbing, a hit-and-run where the guy dragged the body halfway down Western Avenue before it came loose, and a baby in a garbage can. I got the hit-and-run and one of the gunshots. And you say you’re worn out. Tell me the high-end lawyers carry on like that.”
“Nah. Just guys roughing up the wife and kids, the women drunk and disorderly. The easy stuff.” I spoke gruffly to cover the crack in my voice.
“Hey, Ms. W. Don’t take it to heart. Want me to come over?”
I was tempted, but it was past ten. My first meeting was set for eleven. I was sick of pushing myself, but the old blue-collar work ethic wouldn’t leave me alone. Or maybe it was just my dead mother’s voice. Once when I was eight and had been in trouble at school I couldn’t face going back the next day. In tears I pleaded a stomachache. My tender-hearted father wanted to tuck me in bed with a book and my teddy bear, but Gabriella dressed me by force. Speaking in her heavily accented English, rather than Italian—to make sure I knew it was important—she told me only cowards ran from their problems, especially ones they’d created themselves. At the end of the day, though, she’d been waiting for me in the school yard, with a bag of meringues—so I would know that bravery was rewarded.
I swung leaden legs over the side of the bed. “Oh, how I wish. When do you go back on a human schedule? Next week?”
“Tuesday. Hold that beautiful thought right where it is and don’t let any of those fast-talking bankers or lawyers tempt you. I’d hate to have to spend my life in Joliet on account of you—my mama would never forgive me.”
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