Audiobook Narration
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US Midwest- Chicago, Great Lakes)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Bob's House was small in a run down area, and I was surprised that a big deal. Chicago headman and following that far down the ladder a maneuver the three steps to the porch with obvious difficulty pause for a second to get his breath in his balance, turn the handle and pushed open the door. I walked in just behind by and held his arms. He staggered towards a chair behind the white kitchen table to the left of the door. He studied himself again with a hand on the table, got to the chair, turned around and flopped into it. The meal that his longtime girlfriend had fixed for him was still sitting at his place at the table soup rolls and a glass of some drink I didn't recognize. I took a quick look around with one eye on death. The kitchen was very small. The walls, floor and ceiling were white, and as I look down the hallway, I could see it. The rest of the house appeared to be mostly white, also typical of Duff. The kitchen was spotless, but that was Bob Duff, a walking contradiction. He had been in the army for several years in his younger life, and neatness and order had been drilled into him. Along with, I guess, the capability to shoot and kill. There were some pictures sit around the table and on the wall, including some of me and Nick and the others. I made a mental note that I'd like to have some of those. He told me to sit down pointing to the chair across from him, but I told him that I just had to stand after my long drive to Chicago from Dingus. The truth was that I wanted to have my back against the wall because I didn't know whether there was anyone else in the house and I wasn't taking any chances With the kitchen light on him, I got a better look. He was a death barely walking. There was no spark, no animation whatsoever. He was wearing some kind of a faded flowery shirt, which was not tucked into his plain brown pants, so I could not tell if he was packing. He spooned some soup into his mouth, but as soon as he did, he choked, spit it out and pushed the plate back. I need to get in this story would be a long, painful process for both of us, but I had no inkling of the surprises in store. Looking up, Bob said his first words since we left the store parking the well, you did the time Charlie and I O u. I was stunned. I had waited for those words for years, but now they seemed empty. As he talked, he went in and out of focus. He looked down at his plate, grabbed a small hunk of roles, stuck it in his mouth. Then, in the same raspy whisper, he said, Okay, Charlie, he went through a lot of trouble with the bosses to forcing me What's on your mind, What's on my mind. I thought, you son of a *****. You blew the back of my friends head off right in front of me and landed me in prison for five years and you wonder what's on my mind With that, the rage rose up in me again. I was elected him to tear that frail body limb from limb, but I got myself under control. I'm just here for some answers. For five years I've been waiting for answers, and I don't want any crap. How long the truth. Why did you hit **** when you knew I'd brought you to Dingus to cool things down with him? And why did you let me rot in a West Virginia prison for a hit that I didn't do that did not even know was going to happen? Damn. Uh, you stuck it to me and you ask, What do you want? That's crap. Crap. Yeah, I owe you. He repeated. Charlie, I want you to have my lock picks and gave him the neck. You can ever his lack picks. I didn't need them anymore. I wouldn't be returning to a life of crime. And they held no sentimental value for me. You owe me big time. But it's the answers I want. Bottom line, I said, why did you wack, spry? This will be your payment to me. Case closed. Now tell me, God damn it. Bob looked up at me with a strange expression. His body appear to be fighting his mind, each growing weaker. This wasn't the man I knew five years ago. I still had small vestiges, a sympathy even for the worst people. I had come across one reason I would never be ineffective, Headman. It seemed Duff could die at any minute. What else can you do to a man like that? I must be the dumbest man on earth to even be talking to this half dead piece of ****. But the truth Waas at whether he was sick or not stoned or not dying or not, I wanted some answers.