The New Destroyer 02 Choke Hold by Warren Murphy

Author:Warren Murphy
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-06-08T19:40:14+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dawn was kissing the treetops of West Virginia and the birds were singing a chorus to greet the new day as the small crowd assembled in the little landscaped park next to the Cheyenne Tobacco administrative building. Three men struggled to hoist Edgar Rawly into a leather saddle.

“Careful, you snotnoses,” Rawly snarled. “I’m not a sack of potatoes, you know.” In punctuation, he swatted the nearest young man on the top of the head with a riding crop.

David Merkel accepted the abuse with a resigned grunt.

The magazine ad photo shoot had taken most of the previous day and had not ended well. A new firm had been hastily hired and, at Mr. Rawly’s command, a new direction was being taken.

The photographer and his crew were due in ten minutes. Mr. Rawly preferred it when people arrived early. Merkel knew that heaven would not help this new crew if they were late.

“Okay, careful, careful,” Rawly said. “Now balance me off. You there-” He struck an accounting vice president on the head. “-nudge me back to the right.”

Although the center of activity, the horse on which Rawly was perched remained perfectly still. The animal was several decades beyond skittishness. It had been rolled out into the new day sunshine from a glass display case in the lobby of the main building.

Merkel noticed that the stuffed horse had a few missing patches of fur. This ad was for the Asian markets, and even though it would not hit for several months, it was of crucial importance. The overseas markets were vital to the future of the tobacco industry. It was bad enough that Mr. Rawly was insisting that his face be used in the newest rollout, but an elderly man on a balding stuffed horse was not exactly the image of vitality Cheyenne should be projecting. Merkel hoped the photography people would be able to Photoshop in some fur to cover the horse’s mangy areas.

“Great gal, Misty,” Rawly said, stroking the stuffed horse’s shaggy mane. “We used her in a hundred and eight TV spots back in the fifties, not counting the live spots she did for the Cheyenne All-Star Theatre Featuring Morey Amsterdam and the Alison Dickering Dancers. That was in the good old days, when the bastards hadn’t kicked us off TV. Misty here was partnered with Ramblin’ Bob DeLucca. They did print ads, too. Wonder where Bob got himself off to?”

“Pinegreen Cemetery, across town,” Merkel replied. “Died of lung cancer back in 1968.”

“The bastard,” Rawly complained. “Would’ve sold us through the roof to have him back in this saddle. No one could push smokes like Bob and Misty.”

Merkel hoped the photographers would arrive soon. Mr. Rawly was waxing nostalgic and was in a rare moment of good humour. That would change in a heartbeat if the new ad people failed to arrive on time.

Merkel suddenly heard the sound of an automobile engine and turned an optimistic eye to the parking lot.

It was not the photographer.

A big red Cadillac Fleetwood Seventy-Five with bald tires and broken fins had just driven into view.

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