Deadliest of the Species by Michael Oliveri

Author:Michael Oliveri
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

It took Tim nearly an hour to find the right street, and another twenty minutes to find the right house. By then the rain and the long walk left him cold, wet, and hungry. He sneezed several times, and feared he caught a cold.

He felt defenseless on the streets, but fortunately little traffic filled the streets. As it was, every time a woman drove by his heart skipped a beat and it took all the self-control he possessed to keep from running.

Bart’s house looked pretty much like all the rest on the block: a simple two story design with a modest yard, moderately-weathered siding, and trimmed hedges along the front. Off-white siding covered the sides over a short foundation of red brick, and black shutters adorned the windows. He anxiously stepped up his pace a bit but used the front walk rather than cutting across the grass. The front door swung open as he crossed the wide front porch.

“Hurry up! Get in here!” came an urgent voice. A short, stocky man, built like an Olympic wrestler, leaned through the screen door. He had close-cropped black hair with a hint of gray at the temples. His cauliflower right ear rounded out the wrestler image.

Tim complied, jogging the last few steps past the wrestler and into the house. “Are you Bart?”

“Yeah.” He closed and locked the door behind them. “I’ve been pulling my hair out waiting for you. Jack called me right after you left. If he were thinking, he would have called first so I could pick you up.”

“I’m just glad I happened to run into him. He seems like a good kid.”

“He’s bright, but he’s still learning. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mister Wilder. We’ve heard a lot about you.” Bart thrust out a large hand.

Tim shook it. “Man, I’ve been hoping to find an opportunity like this for a long time.”

“Well, c’mon. Let’s get you under cover downstairs. The witches use clairvoyance.”

Tim followed Bart to a narrow doorway down the hall. “Clair-a-what?”

“Clairvoyance. They use the cats and the blackbirds as their eyes and ears.”

“That explains a few things,” he muttered as he descended the stairs. Bart, unlike Alexandra, must not have expected guests in his basement. Stacks of boxes concealed one wall, a laundry area filled one comer, and an old, beat-up pool table dominated the center of the room. No balls waited on the felt at the moment, but stains, cigarette burns, and wear showed it had been heavily used. A cot with a blanket and pillow sat on one side of the pool table. Tim almost regretted fleeing the relative comfort of Alexandra’s basement.

“It ain’t much,” Bart said, “but you’ll be safe here.”

“So what have you got going against the witches?”

“We’ll talk later. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Let me scrounge up a change of clothes and a sandwich or something. The ladies are on the warpath as we speak, so I want you to stay down here. They know about your escape.”

“And the fat woman?”

Bart grinned. “She’s dead. Couldn’t happen to a better bitch.

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