Dead Bang by Robert Bailey

Author:Robert Bailey [Bailey, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781590771099
Amazon: 1590771095
Goodreads: 698251
Publisher: M. Evans & Company
Published: 2006-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

• • •

Rusty made one woof, which usually means there’s a critter in the yard. He generally doesn’t bark at people. I looked out the window. On the road, a small car crept along with someone shining a flashlight on the mailboxes. I watched. Rusty ran down to the door, danced on the tile floor, and stared at the door handle.

Ben stood up from his chair. “What?”

“Some poor bastard looking for an address,” I said. “Why don’t you put the dog out on his chain?”

Ben let the dog out. The motion sensor set off the yard lights, and I could no longer see the road, so I found the oven mitts and rescued the ribs.

I measured half a cup of honey into my mixing bowl and added an equal amount of hickory-smoked barbecue sauce from the bottle. After lining a couple of cookie sheets with aluminum foil I gently laid out a rack of ribs on each.

The glaze seemed a little thick, so I added a little more sauce from the bottle and brushed the glaze onto the ribs. I cranked the oven to broil and popped in the ribs.

Ben clicked off the TV and set the table.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Hungry!”

The dog started working on the screen door. “He may be psychic,” I said.

“Maybe he just hears us setting the table,” said Ben.

The house smelled like a Georgia smokehouse restaurant. I turned on the vent fan so the broiler wouldn’t set off the smoke alarm and let the dog in. He took the stairs in two bounds. The lights in the yard went out. I washed my hands while the dog made laps around the table. The ribs had browned up nicely. Waiting for them to pick up a little char, it was all I could do not to dance around the table with the dog.

“Uncle!” I said. “Time to eat!” I shut down the oven and eased the ribs onto a platter. As I set them on the table, Rusty woofed once and took several steps toward the front door, stiff legged, like he was walking on stilts.

I hustled down the hall to Ben’s bedroom and closed the door so I could survey the yard from the dark room and not be backlit. The car that had been checking mailboxes eased up my drive with its lights off. It stopped. A man in a long, dark coat stepped from the passenger door. The car’s interior lights revealed only the driver remaining in the vehicle. The driver wore a full and very black beard. The passenger, the man now in the yard, wore a bushy black moustache.

As the man approached, the yard lights came on, and he ran toward the house clutching a white envelope to his chest. At the lilac bushes along the inside circle of the drive, he crouched and studied the house.

I hotfooted it to the kitchen and snatched the Colt off the top of the fridge. Rusty stood at the door, shaking and whining.

“Jesus,” said Ben, his face serious as a stone effigy.

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