The Demon of Denver by S. J. Varengo & Craig A. Hart

Author:S. J. Varengo & Craig A. Hart [Varengo, S.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Craig A. Hart

Neal was very aware of the wide range of emotions that he was cycling through as he drove east, about three-quarters of an hour into the Beehive State. Many of them were very unsettling, as, obviously, were the realities that had caused the emotions.

Before Dan Porter had walked into his store, about the most exciting thing Neal did was scour the internet for stories about dry- and wet-cell batteries while drinking Pappy van Winkle. Driving to Mexico was something that only Dan’s friendship and too much bourbon could have given him the courage to actually do. He’d imagined access to an archaeological dig as the ultimate goal of the trip. Everything else had been way out of the realm of what his mind was capable of imagining.

And the most unsettling thing about it all was—how much he loved it. Admittedly, he still wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure what the fuck was going on, in spite of having been directly involved in a good deal of it. These people, even Dan, albeit to a lesser degree, seemed comfortable functioning within this paradigm. That was weird in itself. How does one become accustomed to car chases, gunfire, exploding houses, and kidnapping? How do you process a daughter, who even using the rule of “if you hear hoofbeats think horses, not zebras,” appeared to be looking to kill her father and, at least until recently, fully equipped to carry out the deed?

And how the hell does a normal human mind process J.J. Porter?

Neal passed a sign announcing a major truck stop a few miles further down the road and he smiled at the thought of peeing into a urinal like a civilized person.

A moment later, his blood ran cold. He took his foot from the accelerator, as he could see a vehicle pulled to the side of the road. Even from this distance, he could tell it was a flower van, and as he coasted to a stop behind it, he could see there was damage to the rear end.

Moving slowly, he reached toward his glove box and removed a .22 pistol from beneath a roadmap of Mexico. Although he’d never seen Conrad Barker in person, he was impressed again by the foresight of J.J., as she’d texted a picture (a professionally taken headshot from his real estate website). “Just in case” was the follow-up text.

He sat for a minute to see if anyone got out of the car, and when no one did, he slowly opened his door and exited. He crouched and walked slowly toward the van, and just before reaching it, stood up straight. If anyone was watching from the van, the Land Rover rolling up behind it would have already alerted them to Neal’s presence. There probably wasn’t much reason to tiptoe at this point.

He reached the van and moved to the passenger door. Even given that his cover was pre-blown, he crouched again as he approached, grasping for the tiniest shred of the element of surprise. In a perfect imitation of the world’s slowest elevator, he inched his way upward, gun ready.

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