Read Dirty Harry 05 - Family Skeletons for Free Online Page B

both sides of the conversation.
    “I don’t like it,” said a quiet female voice. “It isn’t fun anymore.”
    “It’s not supposed to be fun!” the angry male replied. “We are supposed to stand for something. We’re supposed to be working toward something. We need everyone’s energy, everyone’s manitou to keep our power up!”
    “Come on, Tom, there’s no reason to come down so hard,” said a third voice, another female.
    “I’m only thinking about what we’re trying to achieve!” the newly christened Tom said. “We can’t afford to lose anybody now. We can’t!”
    “Tom, you’re raving,” said the first female’s calm voice. “Have you eaten today?”
    “I’m on a fast,” Tom answered sullenly.
    “You’re on a strike,” the woman answered. “You haven’t eaten for days. You’ve hardly slept . . .”
    “You know why! You know why!” Tom replied, his hysteria reaching a peak.
    “Come on, Tom, take it easy,” said the third voice.
    “Yeah, hey, I don’t know about you,” the first girl said soothingly, “but I’m starving. Tell you what, Tom. Why don’t we talk this over some more at Brigham’s or the Muffin House or something?”
    “I’m not going to eat!” the boy yelled. “I have to see the wolf!”
    “All right, OK,” the first girl soothed. “But you can watch me eat, can’t you? That won’t scare the wolf away, will it?”
    “Don’t scoff, Christine,” the boy said threateningly. “I’m warning you . . .”
    Harry had heard enough. His sense of timing told him it was a good moment for making himself known. He walked over and leaned against the doorway.
    All three people inside froze in place. They were standing in what looked like a loft—a wide, fairly high enclosure that consisted of one room interrupted only by round support beams. The only window in the large space was a big one made to look like an arc in the far wall. Through it Harry could see most of the Common. Around the room were tables covered with pamphlets and boxes of envelopes. On the corner of the farthest table was a typewriter and several stamp dispensers.
    Behind the tables were the trio of young people. The boy was very good-looking. He was tall, brown-haired, well built, and wearing a tight sweater, designer jeans, and boots. The girl next to him was a knockout. She could’ve been any age between eighteen and twenty-seven. She had loosely curled brown hair that rolled lustrously down to her shoulders and broiled over her forehead. Her eyes were perfectly shaped and deep brown. Her lips were inordinately rich and red. She looked to be model height—about five-nine. All her feminine parts hung onto her for dear life.
    She too was wearing jeans but had a beige, silky-looking shirt tucked into them. Her lines were smooth, shaped, and strong. Callahan was impressed. Compared to the tan blondes of California, this rich-skinned brunette gave off a solid glow to their pale yellow rays.
    Shanna was behind her. There was no mistaking her. The hair was still bright red, but it was longer and parted slightly to the side. The freckles were still there, blasting into every corner of her face. From a distance they combined to give her normally pretty pale skin color the impression of a tan. Her eyes were bright green and her lips, still fairly thin, were highlighted with lipstick. She was wearing a blue leotard top and jeans. Shanna’s denims were worn and obviously non-fashion Levis, Lees, or Wranglers. The brunette’s jeans were obviously designer, Vanderbilts or Calvin Kleins or Sergio Valentes or one of those thirty-four million other labels.
    Taken together, the two women could make a weaker man fall to his knees and beg to kiss the ground they walked on.
    The recognition was instantaneous on Shanna’s part as well. Her eyes widened. Christine’s eyes looked him over with pleased appraisal. Tom’s eyes couldn’t help but stay the way they were: bloodshot, heavily lined, and slightly