Click here to Download Mystic River PDF Book by Dennis Lehane Language English having PDF Size 1.6 MB and No of Pages 481.
Sean’s father, a foreman, had the better job. He was tall and fair and had a loose, easy smile that Sean had seen calm his mother’s anger more than a few times, just shut it down like a switch had been flicked off inside of her. Jimmy’s father loaded the trucks. He was small and his dark hair fell over his forehead in a tangle and something in his eyes seemed to buzz all the time.
Mystic River PDF Book by Dennis Lehane
|Name of Book||Mystic River|
|PDF Size||1.6 MB|
|No of Pages||481|
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He had a way of moving too quickly; you’d blink and he was on the other side of the room. Dave Boyle didn’t have a father, just a lot of uncles, and the only reason he was usually there on those Saturdays was because he had this gift for attaching himself to Jimmy like lint; he’d see him leaving his house with his father, show up beside their car, half out of breath, going “What’s up, Jimmy?”
With a sad hopefulness. They all lived in East Buckingham, just west of downtown, a neighborhood of cramped corner stores, small playgrounds, and butcher shops where meat, still pink with blood, hung in the windows. The bars had Irish names and Dodge Darts by the curbs. Women wore handkerchiefs tied off at the backs of their skulls and carried mock leather snap purses for their cigarettes.
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Until a couple of years ago, older boys had been plucked from the streets, as if by spaceships, and sent to war. They came back hollow and sullen a year or so later, or they didn’t come back at all. Days, the mothers searched the papers for coupons. Nights, the fathers went to the bars. You knew everyone; nobody except those older boys ever left.
Jimmy and Dave came from the Flats, down by the Penitentiary Channel on the south side of Buckingham Avenue. It was only twelve blocks from Sean’s street, but the Devines were north of the Ave., part of the Point, and the Point and the Flats didn’t mix much. It wasn’t like the Point glittered with gold streets and silver spoons.
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It was just the Point, working class, blue collar, Chevys and Fords and Dodges parked in front of simple A-frames and the occasional small Victorian. But people in the Point owned. People in the Flats rented. Point families went to church, stayed together, held signs on street corners during election months.
The Flats, though, who knew what they did, living like animals sometimes, ten to an apartment, trash in their streets Wellieville, Sean and his friends at Saint Mike’s called it, families living on the dole, sending their kids to public schools, divorcing. So while Sean went to Saint Mike’s Parochial in black pants, black tie, and blue shirt, Jimmy and Dave went to the Lewis M. Dewey School on Blaxston.
Kids at the Looey & Dooey got to wear street clothes, which was cool, but they usually wore the same ones three out of five days, which wasn’t. There was an aura of grease to them greasy hair, greasy skin, greasy collars and cuffs. Dave needed her. That was not the custom. And at that moment she realized why his never complaining had begun to bother her. Mystic River PDF Book
When you complained to someone, you were, in a way, asking for help, asking for that person to fix what troubled you. But Dave had never needed her before, so he’d never complained, not after lost jobs, not while Rosemary had been alive. But now, kneeling before her, saying, desperately, that he may have killed a man, he was asking her to tell him it was all right.
And it was. Wasn’t it? You tried to mug an honest citizen, tough shit if it didn’t go the way you planned. Too bad you might have died. Celeste was thinking, I mean, sorry, but oops. You play, you pay. She kissed her husband’s forehead. “Baby,” she whispered, “you hop in the shower. I’ll take care of your clothes.
Katie had broken it off herself, though, and outside of a lot of 3 A.M. phone calls and one near-bloodfest around Christmas when Bobby and Roman Fallow showed up on the front porch, the breakup aftermath had passed pretty painlessly. Annabeth’s abhorrence of Bobby O’Donnell could amuse Jimmy because he half wondered sometimes if Annabeth hated Bobby not only because he looked like Edward G. Mystic River PDF Book
And had slept with her stepdaughter, but also because he was a half-assed criminal as opposed to the pros she assumed her brothers were and knew, beyond a doubt, that her husband had been in the years before Marita died. Marita had died fourteen years ago, while Jimmy served a two-year bid at the Deer Island House of Corrections in Winthrop.
One Saturday during visitation hours, as five-year-old Katie squirmed in her lap, Marita told Jimmy a mole on her arm had been darkening lately, and she was going to visit a doctor at the community clinic. Just to be safe, she said. Four Saturdays later she was undergoing chemo. Six months after she’d told him about the mole.
She was dead, Jimmy having been forced to watch his wife’s body puree into chalk over a succession of Saturdays from the other side of a dark wood table scarred by cigarettes, sweat, come stains, and over a century’s worth of convict bullshit and convict laments. The last month of her life Marita had been too sick to come, too weak to write. Mystic River PDF Book
And Jimmy had to make do with phone calls during which she’d be exhausted or doped up or both. Usually both. He’d walked up Roseclair from the church, trying hard not to trot, and reached a small crowd of onlookers by the overpass that stretched above Sydney. They stood at the base of the incline where Roseclair began its rise under the expressway and then over the Pen Channel.
Losing its name on the other side and becoming Valenz Boulevard as it left Buckingham and entered Shawmut. Back where the crowd had gathered, you could stand at the top of a fifteenfoot retaining wall of poured concrete that served as Sydney’s dead end and look down on the last street running north-south in the East Bucky Flats, a rusting guardrail pressed against your kneecaps.
Just a few yards east of the overlook, the guardrail gave way to a purple limestone stairwell. As kids, they’d sometimes bring dates there, and sit in the shadows passing fortyounce bottles of Miller back and forth and watching the images flicker across the white screen of Hurley’s Drive-in. Sometimes. Mystic River PDF Book Download
Dave Boyle would come with them, not because anyone particularly liked Dave, but because he’d seen just about every damn movie ever made, and sometimes, if they were stoned, they’d have Dave rattle off the lines as they watched the silent screen, Dave getting into it so much at times that he even changed his vocal inflections to fit the various characters.
Then Dave suddenly got good at baseball, went off to Don Bosco to become a jock superstar, and they couldn’t keep him around just for laughs anymore. Jimmy had no clue why all this was flooding back to him suddenly, or why he stood frozen by the guardrail, eyes gaping down at Sydney, except that it had something to do with those dogs.
The way they pranced nervously in place after they’d hopped from the van and pawed the asphalt. One of their handlers raised a walkie-talkie to his lips as a helicopter appeared in the sky over downtown and headed for them like a fat bee, growing fatter every time Jimmy blinked. Mystic River PDF Book Download
A baby of a cop stood blocking the purple stairwell and a bit farther up Rose clair, two cruisers and a few more boys in blue stood guard in front of the access road leading into the park. The dogs never barked. Jimmy turned his head back as he realized that’s what had been bugging him since he’d first seen them.
Even though their twenty four paws jittered back and forth on the asphalt, it was a tight, concentric jittering, like soldiers marching in place, and Jimmy felt a terrible efficiency in their black snouts and lean flanks, had an image of their eyes as hot coals. It was the last hour that was the worst. A gray light rose through the thick, high windows and filled the place with metallic cold.
Jimmy heard men wake and pad around their cells. He heard raspy, dry coughs. He had a sense that the machine was revving up, cold and eager to consume, the machine knowing it would die without violence, without the taste of human skin. Woodrell jumped down onto the floor, the move so sudden Jimmy couldn’t react. Mystic River PDF Book Download
He closed his eyes to slits and deepened the rhythm of his breathing and waited for Woodrell to come close enough for him to hit his throat. Woodrell Daniels didn’t even look at him, though. He took a book from the shelf above the sink and opened it as he lowered himself to his knees, and then the man began to pray.
He prayed and read passages from Paul’s letters and he prayed some more, and every now and then that whispery chuckle would escape from him but never interrupt the flow of words until Jimmy realized that the chuckling was some kind of uncontrollable emanation, like the sighs Jimmy’s mother had let loose when he was younger.
Woodrell probably didn’t even notice that he made the sounds anymore. By the time Woodrell turned and asked Jimmy if he’d consider accepting Christ as his personal savior, Jimmy knew the longest night of his life was over. He could see in Woodrell’s face the light of the damned trying to navigate his way to salvation. Mystic River PDF Book Free
And it was so apparent a glow that Jimmy couldn’t understand how he’d failed to see it as soon as he’d met the man. “Good movie. But, like, if they had an island just for baby-rapers and chicken hawks? Just airlift food in a few times a week, fill the water with mines. No one gets off. First-time offenders, fuck you, you get life on the island. Sorry, fellas, just can’t risk you getting out and poisoning someone else.
‘Cause it’s a transmittable disease, you know? You get it ’cause someone did it to you. And you go and pass it on. Like leprosy. I figure we put ’em all on this island, less chance they can pass it on. Each generation, we have fewer and fewer of them. A few hundred years, we turn the island into Club Med or something.
Kids hear about these freaks the way they hear about ghosts now, as something we’ve, I dunno, evolved beyond.” Her friends, who had once seemed fascinating to him, began to seem childish, covered in a real-world retardant of artistic theory and impractical philosophies. Sean would be spending his nights out in the blue concrete arenas where people raped. Mystic River PDF Book Free
And stole and killed for no other reason but the itch to do so, and then he’d suffer through some weekend cocktail party in which ponytailed heads argued through the night (his wife included) over the motivations behind human sin. He remembered what Whitey had said to Brendan Harris about love, how it doesn’t happen even once to most people.
And he could see his wife standing there, watching the truck depart, the phone pressed to her ear but not her mouth. She was a slim woman and tall, with hair the color of cherry wood. When she laughed, she covered her mouth with her fingers. In college, they’d run across campus in a rainstorm, and she kissed him for the first time under the library archway where they’d found shelter.
And something had loosened in Sean’s chest as her wet hand found the back of his neck, something that had been clenched and breathless since as long as he could remember. She told him that he had the most beautiful voice she’d ever heard, that it sounded like whiskey and wood smoke. Since she’d left, the usual ritual was that he’d talk until she decided to hang up. Mystic River PDF Book Free
She had never spoken, not once in all of the phone calls he’d received since she’d left him, calls from road stops and motels and dusty phone booths along the shoulders of barren roadways from here to the Tex-Mex border and back somewhere in between again. Yet even though it was usually just the hiss of a silent line in his ear, he always knew when it was her. He could feel her through the phone. Sometimes he could smell her.