Under Tower Peak: a Tommy Smith High Country Noir, Book One by Bart Paul

Author:Bart Paul
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Arcade
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Lester sat down and watched me eat. He cleaned up Sarah’s waffle and went to the can twice in the time it took me to finish. When we got up to leave I thought I saw the black Escalade cruise by, but it disappeared behind the Masonic Lodge before I got a good look. We walked back down Main Street and crossed over to my pickup. The tow truck had hauled the Firebird around the corner out of traffic and left it on the side street where Albert’s relatives could pick it up. We stood on the concrete in front of the garage for a bit, Lester talking to old man Dunbar, me just looking at the hotel across the street.

I asked Lester to buy some things we’d need for the Boy Scout trip like nylon stuff sacks, matches, batteries, another box of .270 soft points and such. He didn’t see what the hurry was but I made him a list. A week ahead was always pretty abstract for him. We walked past the Sierra Peaks, but he couldn’t even look inside so I guessed we’d be taking our dinner trade to the Hunter’s Lodge for a while. Lester kept on toward the sporting goods while I dropped in to the general store to pick up a few camp things that May didn’t send up with the groceries like a hard salami, some cheese, Copenhagen that Lester had asked for, half a dozen hacksaw blades, a can of liquid wrench, and a bottle of Crown Royal.

When I stepped out of the store, I saw GQ a block away leaning against my truck. He saw me and started walking my direction. I waited outside the sporting goods by the sidewalk freezer with the trophy-sized Rainbows. When he caught up with me he lit a Camel Filter and smiled at me from behind his shades. He looked like he’d had a pretty good lunch.

“You could use a new truck, cowboy,” he said.

“It’s paid for.”

“You could have a lot nicer one paid for,” he said. “You could have a hundred of them, claro?” He smoked like a stoner sucking on a joint. We both watched Lester through the window drifting through the stacks of camping and fishing stuff. I didn’t want him thinking about a soft target like Lester too much. I walked in the other direction and set my paper bag at the foot of the iron fence by the courthouse lawn. He followed right along.

“That’s what you want, right,” he said, “money?”

“You got no idea what I want.”

He made his spooky-lookey noise again, kind of an eeeuuuww sound. I wanted to deck him.

“I figure that’s why you and the sidekick haven’t told anybody about Dad’s plane.” He laughed and wagged his finger and sounded real Ricky Ricardo. “You boys are up to something. I can tell.”

I just let him talk.

“His girl Callie wanted money,” he said. “She sounded like she would’ve done about anything to get it, too.”

“You’re lucky Lester don’t hear you talking that way.

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