Ginger Storm_An Urban Fantasy Adventure by J. P. Rice

Author:J. P. Rice [Rice, J. P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jason Paul Rice
Published: 2018-12-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

“And he told you he would be right here? In this very spot?” Owen pointed at the ground as he squinted and peered around the wooded area.

I rubbed my hands together for warmth and breathed through my mouth to counter the lingering dead animal stench. “You know how it goes in this business. He isn’t just going to meet us at a Motel 6. My father mapped out the directions, so I know they are legit. We just need to wait until he shows up.”

We’d arrived in Seattle in the morning and headed straight for Mount Rainier, the highest mountain in Washington. Considered one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world, I found it ironic that glacial ice covered the mountain.

We were at the northwestern edge on a summit called Liberty Cap. My father’s map had led us directly to the fallen, ancient tree trunk wedged between the giant boulders. Johnny Tango was supposed to be waiting here, which made me shift my weight nervously from boot to boot, crunching the snow beneath.

The verdant pine trees offset the chalky atmosphere and absorbed some of the sun’s blinding reflection coming off the ice. My father had told me he had talked to Johnny. I still didn’t know how he’d done it from across the country without a phone, but I’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. The bottom line was my father always came through on a promise.

A faint sprinkling sound hit my ears and my neck jerked to the left to find its source. I saw a man standing with his back to us, pissing into a bush. He burped and spoke over his shoulder, “Dang blast it, I’ll mosey on over there in a minute.”

Johnny Tango was dressed in gray corduroys, a heavy flannel jacket and a scarf of mismatched animal pelts. Gray hair poked out from under his black Johnny Ringo hat with a high top. With a raven’s feather pinned horizontally against each temple, the hat maintained the cowboy look, but added the flair of a magician.

He zipped up his pants and turned to Owen and me. The tall man’s windburned and wrinkled face told of a life of hardship and there always seemed to be great pain hiding behind his dull gray eyes. Always. He played with the curled end of his long, dark mustachio, twisting it to circular perfection. His other hand hung near his hip holster, his calloused thumb smoothing over the ivory grip of his Colt .45 single-action revolver.

Johnny was quite the character, but I was afraid it was all an act. He played the part well, but he seemed more like a wizard on the run, who’d settled out here and fallen off the supernatural grid. After my stint down south, I could hardly blame the man. Considering he was friends with my father, I doubted he was an ordinary cowboy. Johnny was our eyes and ears in the west. No matter the destination, he always had valuable information.

After my sabbatical, if he was trying to keep away from the nonsense, I understood completely.

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