The Slanted Gutter by S. Craig Zahler

Author:S. Craig Zahler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Den of Iniquity Books
Published: 2021-01-15T03:46:44+00:00

XXV

Conscious of Erin Green

Rain crackled against the window of the bedroom where lay Task, whose subconscious mind was currently (and baroquely) accusing him of a great many things. Thunder rumbled, awakening him from the troubling tableaux.

A digital clock told him it was just after two in the morning.

The slick grabbed his cellphone, sat on the edge of the mattress, and checked to see who had called, wondering if tonight would be the night he committed two acts of first-degree murder. There were no messages (other than one from Dingbang about a possible husband for Auntie), and Task was equally relieved and disappointed to find that homicide was not on his itinerary.

One week had passed since the meeting with Strembicky, and thus far, the consortium manhunt had yielded no fruit.

Loath to subject himself to any more nightmares, the slick decided to clean himself up and go to one of his parlors. Something cracked like a gunshot, startling him, and he soon realized that what he had heard was only an ambitious raindrop striking the air conditioner.

Task walked across the brown carpet, turned on his bedroom television, and raised the volume. Listening to a movie in which the residents of a small town tried to figure out why a bunch of bloodless corpses had perforated necks, he went to the toilet, urinated, washed his hands, shaved, and showered. The sheriff was asking a dwarf librarian for a book about vampires when the slick killed the power and left his apartment.

Hidden by the right leg of his mocha slacks and tucked into an ankle holster was his snub-nosed revolver.

Watching the shadows, Task descended the stairs to the lower level of the parking garage, approached his silver sedan, and seated himself. Darkness scurried as he turned on the lights. Purring, the car corkscrewed upwards to the street, where the windshield became a rippling sheet of water.

Wipers elbowed the rain as the slick drove southwest toward Preston Avenue. He was not sure when he had made the decision to go to this particular parlor, but it seemed to be his destination.

The yellow and white smears of street lamps and headlights swam across the windshield. Task turned on the radio and heard a blues-rock standard that his bar band had covered sixteen years earlier. This memory and the thought of the three dusty guitars that hung upon the paneled wall of his guest room sent his thumb to the power button.

The music vanished.

Listening to the rain and his thoughts, he drove through the wet city.

Task cornered onto Preston Avenue, reached the building that contained the parlor, and turned toward the entrance of the parking garage. The raindrops that fell between the car and the dark opening were changed into a curtain of diamonds by the headlights.

Soon, the silver sedan was out of the storm, trailing fluid as it climbed up the ramp. The slick claimed the open space next to the familiar purple compact, exited his vehicle, took the elevator to the second floor, walked to 243, bypassed the outer door, and turned the bolts.

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