26
" I left my car on the street, walked up across the dead yard, and a guy I took to be James Lester opened the door. He was average-sized in dark gray cotton work pants, dirty white socks, and a dingy undershirt. His hair was cut short on the sides and on top, but had been left long and shaggy in back, and he looked at me with a squint. He was thin, with knobby, grease-embedded hands and pale skin sporting Bic-pen tattoos on his arms and shoulders and chest. Work farm stuff. I made him for thirty, but he could’ve been younger. He said, “You’re the guy who called. You’re from the lawyer, right?” A quarter to eleven in the morning and he smelled of beer. "
― Robert Crais , Sunset Express (Elvis Cole, #6)
35
" I said, “Luce?” She looked at me. I opened my mouth but did not speak. My mouth felt dry and there was a kind of faraway ringing and my fingers and legs suddenly went cold. There are those times when intellect fails us. There are those moments when the modern man fades to a shadow and something from the brain stem reasserts itself, and in that moment the joking is gone and we frighten ourselves with our dark potential. I said, quite normally, quite conversationally, “What do you mean, abusive? Did he touch you?” She shook her head, and then she placed both palms on my chest. “Oh, no. No, Elvis. And if he had I promise you fully that I would’ve had him arrested so fast he would’ve had whiplash. "
― Robert Crais , Sunset Express (Elvis Cole, #6)
36
" Forty-two minutes later, keys worked the lock, the door swung open, and Lucas Worley came halfway through the door before seeing me. He was carrying a newspaper and a Starbucks cup. He looked surprised, but he hadn’t yet seen the dope on the table. “What the fuck is this? Who are you?” “Come inside and close the door, Luke. Can I call you Luke? Or is it Lucas? Lucas seems pretentious.” He was a little bit taller than he had looked in the car. His eyes were bright and sharp, and he spoke quickly. You could tell he was used to talking. You could tell he was used to saying bright things and having them appreciated, and you could tell that he thought he was brighter than he really was. Probably where the smugness came from. He said, “Maybe I’m confused. Isn’t this my house? Isn’t that my sofa? The only thing that doesn’t seem to belong here is you.” Showing attitude. "
― Robert Crais , Sunset Express (Elvis Cole, #6)