Iron House by John Hart

Author:John Hart
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781429990318
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2011-07-12T10:00:00+00:00

Chase Johnson

George Nichols

They were names from the past, Hennessey’s crew from Iron House. Michael saw them like twenty-three years ago was yesterday. Big kids, and mean.

Predators.

Dogs.

Michael looked down at the names written in a dead man’s hand, and in looking he felt it all come tearing back, a current so dark and strong it hurt.

“Mister?” She must have seen the change in him, because her voice came smaller. “Mister…”

He looked again at Ronnie Saints’s list of names. The three boys were listed first, one above the other, and then a line beneath. Under the line were two other names.

“Who is Salina Slaughter?” He watched carefully, but saw no artifice as Crystal shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

He held up the paper so she could see it. “Ronnie didn’t say?”

“No, sir. I saw the list, same as you, but he was in no mind to talk about it. Ronnie’s particular like that. I’m not allowed to question.”

“But you see things.” Michael pushed. “You pay attention.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What else did you notice?” Michael drew the box of money a little closer.

“Nothing.”

“Phone calls?” Her eyes stayed on the box. “People?”

“No.”

“Did he speak to any of the men on this list? George Nichols? Billy Walker? Chase Johnson?”

“Chase Johnson. They’re friends, still.”

“Where does Chase Johnson live?”

“Charlotte, I think.”

“What does he do in Charlotte?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve only met him once.”

“Has Ronnie called you since he left?”

She shook her head. “He says cell phones give you brain cancer.”

“Who is Salina Slaughter?” Michael lifted the box, put it in his lap. “Tell me that and you can keep the money.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, a kind of wild panic at the thought of losing the money. “I just want a baby and a paid-for house.”

“Salina…”

“I ain’t done nothing wrong…”

“… Slaughter.”

“She called here once, that’s all I know. Right before he left. That’s it and that’s all.”

Michael stood, box of money in his left hand. He believed her. “Do you know where I can find Andrew Flint?” She rolled into herself, nose red and wet, head shaking. Michael looked down for a moment, then placed the box of money on the coffee table. “Buy a house,” he said. “Have a baby if you want. But I wouldn’t count on Ronnie Saints.”

“What do you mean?”

He thought of Ronnie Saints, dead in the lake. His gaze lingered on the circle of puckered white scars. “You can do better.”

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