American Kill Switch by John Birmingham

Author:John Birmingham [Birmingham, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gigantic Bombs Corporation
Published: 2022-11-13T05:00:00+00:00

The Tripod trudged up the stairs of the Continental Divide, half-wondering what kinda shit show he was gonna find when he got to Bolger's room and half-cursing his luck at being so good at his job that he was always the guy who got sent to do it. Always. He’d been a glorified janitor for Paulie Milano in San Francisco, too, forever cleaning up little piles of shit for that no-good ingrate. And now it seemed he was gonna be sweeping up after Jonas Murdoch the same way. His polished leather loafers creaked on each step as he climbed towards the top floor, the Tripod had to wonder what he’d ever done to deserve this. It wasn't like he was the mope with the statutory fuckin’ rape kink banging some local yokel’s precious princess in this cheap fuckin’ flop house. He was just the guy expected to clean up the mess.

He sighed heavily, pausing at the turnaround on the first floor to light himself a smoke. Luke Bolger was not a guy you went bursting in on, even when you had your rod out, and he was distracted by nailing some piece of jailbait. Bolger was the sort of weirdo who would definitely wear an old-fashioned gun belt when he was getting his end wet. Fuck that. He probably couldn't get it up unless he had some sort of weapon to stroke his Johnson. Guns and knives were just instruments to a guy like the Tripod. Tools of the trade. But he’d seen Bolger all but creaming his pants whenever they opened fire on those places that didn’t roll out the welcome wagon. The guy was a fucking twist, for sure.

Tommy fully intended to let Varna make the call and give him the bad news first. Let him get used to the idea.

He took a moment to enjoy a couple of long drags on the cigarette before resuming his slow trek upstairs. On each floor, he heard doors opening and closing. On the second floor, there was one woman laughing, another screaming. He heard country music. The raucous voices of what had to be a room party getting out of hand. And as he made the landing on the top floor, a telephone rang, and a man’s voice answered. He stopped and listened. Bolger. Could it be that Miss V was only now just getting through to his room? Sure. So it was worth waiting a little longer.

He had some sympathy for Jennings, who was a bit like him in some ways. Just a guy doing his job. Cleaning up other people's messes. Helping to keep the joint running. But he wasn't about to get clipped on Jennings’ behalf by storming in on some angry cock-shrivelled twist like Bolger.

It was a pity about the girl, he supposed, lighting a second cigarette off the first. The Tripod had a daughter, even if she was a bit of a skank and probably dead or running with some fucking gang now. He wasn't the complete deadbeat his ex-wife had made him out to be in divorce court.

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