Mob Rule (The Dewey Webb Historical Mystery Series Book 6) by Renee Pawlish

Author:Renee Pawlish [Pawlish, Renee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Creative Cat Press
Published: 2019-03-25T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

I waited a few minutes, then moved quietly toward the door. The rumble of a truck on a nearby street drowned out everything else. I waited, and when that sound faded away, I heard nothing. I peeked outside.

Timmons was gone. I didn’t see Doyle, either. I stepped outside, still holding the Colt, and glanced around. Nothing. I holstered the gun, crossed the alley, and walked along the side of the building to the street where my car was parked. I didn’t see Timmons’s sedan, and I didn’t see Doyle or Shane Sweeney’s old Ford. But that didn’t ease my worry. As Timmons had pointed out, Doyle knew about me – maybe not by name – but he knew someone was monkeying in his business. That made him even more dangerous to me.

I glanced at my watch. If I didn’t hurry, I would be late for my meeting with Lonnie Zeller. I pulled into the street and drove away from the warehouse. I took an indirect route as I headed to the highway. I watched the rearview mirror carefully, and no one was following me.

On the way to Johnstown, I thought about what I’d learned this morning, and how it related to Max Willoughby. He was dirty, no doubt about it. But was he passing along information to Murph, as Timmons was, and if so, what? Was Willoughby involved with the unions and the death of the union man? I hoped my meeting with Zeller would help answer those questions.

Johnstown is a tiny town fifty miles north of Denver, just a small place with a few businesses and houses. I turned off the highway and followed the road west, and soon saw the café just as Zeller said. He’d said he wanted to stay away from Denver and keep a low profile, and I’m sure it was because of his dealings with Murph. The little café he’d chosen fit the bill. It was tucked between a gas station and a bakery, with a neon sign blinking “Café” in the window. Mine was the only car in the lot.

I stepped inside the café, and had to let my eyes adjust to the dim light. A jukebox next to the door was silent. I glanced around. A heavyset cook with languid eyes stood behind a long counter. He threw me a disinterested look, but behind his passive eyes, I was sure he knew exactly who I was. The rest of the café appeared empty, but then I saw a hand waving from the back. I walked past a few booths to the last one. A man still bundled up in a heavy coat and porkpie hat was sipping a cup of coffee. I suspected he hadn’t gotten comfortable in case he needed to leave quickly. He indicated I should sit down.

“Webb?” he asked.

I nodded as I slid into the booth across from him.

He pointed at his coffee cup. “You want anything?”

“I could stand some lunch. I don’t know when I’ll be able to eat again.

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