Hungry Moon by J. R. Rice

Author:J. R. Rice [Rice, J. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Silver Canyon Press
Published: 2020-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Sympathy for the Devil

BRYCE AWOKE THURSDAY morning to the complex samba rhythms of conga drums and maracas. Mick Jagger was channeling ol’ Beelzebub, and singing:

♪ Please allow me to introduce myself . . .

Bryce rolled out of bed, slipped into his jeans, and glanced out the window. The sky was powder-blue; it was long past daybreak. He’d slept in the spare bedroom at Jackson’s cabin as usual. Jeez, he thought. I must’ve slept more than twelve hours. He’d been exhausted after their trek through the underworld. He yawned and stretched his stiff body. He was sore, and probably would be for days. Then he thought: coffee! and headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, and the rockin’ sounds of the Rolling Stones.

♪ Pleased to meet you — Hope you guess my name . . .

Jackson Campbell loved his early-morning jams; he put them on each day before he started the coffee. He was standing at the kitchen counter, barefoot, wearing an old Metallica T-shirt and faded blue boxer shorts, bobbing his head to the music, scooping Hills Bros coffee into the paper filter of his ancient Mr. Coffee machine.

“Make it strong,” Bryce said, entering the room. He, too, was dressed in boxers and a T-shirt, but had slipped an old ratty pair of Vans onto his feet.

Jackson smiled. “You got it, brother.” He added another scoop before tapping BREW. Then he placed the can of Hills Bros back into the pantry, briefly eyeing the bottle of Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 before closing the door. He’d already taken a shot of whiskey earlier that morning, after refilling the backup generator with fuel—the ghosts of Mogadishu were always with him.

Bryce poured himself a small glass of orange juice and chugged it down. His blood sugar was in the basement and he needed a quick fix. “I’m starved,” he said, rinsing the glass and placing it on the rack.

“Well, I’m not much of a biscuit maker,” Jackson reminded. “But I can whip up a mean plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.”

“Mmm, sounds good,” said Bryce. “And toast.”

“And toast,” Jackson agreed.

“With jelly,” Bryce added.

“I’ve got a jar of Grandma’s homemade mustang-grape jelly in the door of the fridge,” said Jackson.

“Mmm, perfect,” said Bryce. His stomach actually growled at the thought of Grandma’s homemade jelly. He retrieved the jar and placed it on the table, then popped some bread into the toaster.

At the mention of food, Fate trotted into the kitchen and took a seat by the stove. Jackson looked at the big black dog and grinned. “What?” he said. “Are you hungry, too?”

The big dog wiggled her entire body, tongue lolling from her mouth.

“Well, where’s your bowl?” Jackson asked in a childish voice.

Fate raced out of the kitchen, quickly returning with a giant plastic bowl. The old dog dish was covered in teeth marks and she placed it upright directly at Jackson’s feet. She looked up at him, waiting impatiently.

“That dog’s too smart for her own good,” Bryce said, chuckling.

“Would you mind feeding her?” Jackson asked.

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