McHUGH (McHugh: The Classic 1960s Spy Series) by JAY FLYNN

Author:JAY FLYNN [FLYNN, JAY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Microsoft

Chapter 8

There was filth and smoke and a stench that made McHugh think an outhouse was afire and he was in it. He instinctively tried to move away from it, and the effort brought waves of pain. It seemed like every bone, muscle and organ in his body was broken. His head felt like a shattered egg. He concentrated on lifting the shattered egg a couple of inches. He shut his eyes tight against the dizziness, then made them open.

He was down in the dumps, one of the trash heaps that ring the city. An evil-smelling fire smouldered to his left, and he heard an angry squealing as a rangy cat tangled with a rat. He was glad for the cat, because the rat had been just a few feet away from him at the time, twitching its whiskers and watching him with its pinpoint eyes.

"Thank you, cat," he mumbled. He shook his head and concentrated on checking himself out. Arms and legs would move. His suit was black with ashes from a previous fire, and he could feel that the grit was worked deep into his skin. He rolled around, got his knees under him. He swayed and almost fell on his face again.

"Boy, it look like somebody don' like you a bit."

McHugh got his feet under him, fought to keep his balance against a sudden gust of wind as he looked at the man. He wore a frayed khaki shirt, high boots with jeans stuffed into the tops, a battered hat and a thick sweater that was out at the elbows. His face was dark and lined, and he was grinning at McHugh with teeth that were so white they were out of place.

"A lot of people don't like me a bit," McHugh said weakly.

Soft, dark eyes studied him. "You're a big fella. Guess it might take a lotta guys at that."

McHugh tried to walk. His foot caught on a jumble of refuse, and the other man caught him and slung his arm over his shoulder.

"C'mon, best you git outta here."

"Yeah. I'd like that a lot." McHugh felt his pockets. His keys and wallet hadn't been taken. The other man steered and hauled him toward the edge of the dump, where an old bus was squatting on chunks of wood. There was a stovepipe shoved through a rear window, and a vine of some type struggled for life and crawled over the hood.

"You c'n clean up a li'l here in my place. Hurt bad?"

"Bad enough. You live here in this stinking hole?"

The dark face laughed. "I gets a hundred a month an' whatever land in the dump. 'Cludin' you, I guess."

McHugh laughed too. "Some days a man just can't make a profit."

They were inside, and what he saw surprised him. The bus had obviously been furnished from the dump, but it was clean and neat. Coffee was simmering on the back burner of an oil stove, and there was a refrigerator with the freezer unit squatting on top. McHugh caught his reflection in a cracked full-length mirror.

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