Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. by John Turney

Author:John Turney [Turney, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brimstone Fiction
Published: 2016-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

SATURDAY MORNING AND AFTERNOON

Rye eased out of the cab, every move accompanied by a groan. Though he stood with most of his weight on his good leg, his damaged knee protested any load.

“This hurts worse than sticking a cactus up your nose.” Leaning against the cab, Rye looked up at the steel canopies of the convention center jutting out over the street. Sunlight reflected off their beams. His first visit to the convention center, he brought Dee on a date for some event. His memory failed at recalling the event, but he’d never forget their kiss-fest stroll across the glassed-in walkway.

Chee paid the cabbie while Sunflower helped Rye step up out of the street. Their cab pulled away and another pulled to the curb.

Rye hobbled a few steps by himself. Sweat covered his face. His uncle came alongside. “Lean on me, Nephew.”

“Thanks,” Rye said, putting his arm around Chee’s shoulders. He marveled at the strength he felt in his uncle. He took several steps before his injured knee buckled.

Rye glanced at Chee and grunted, “I hate that. I hate when that happens.”

“How did those men attack you?”

Rye pursed his lips in consideration. “They set me up. Staged a fight. I tried to stop it. That’s when they jumped me.”

“Why would they do that?”

Rye studied his uncle’s weathered face for a few seconds. “They’re List’s men. It appears the mayor wants me out of the way for some reason.”

“He is one bad round-eye,” Chee said.

Sunflower interrupted, “If we want to make the meet on time, we’ll have to drag this helpless white man to the auditorium.”

Rye said, “Squaw makes joke.”

Sunflower punched him on the shoulder.

“Great!” Rye exaggerated a wince. “You’ve injured the one place I don’t hurt.”

With Chee assisting Rye, they managed their way toward the doors with Sunflower close behind them. Children dressed in karate outfits and their parents flowed past them like a stream around rocks.

Rye limped his way past the ticket areas. Approaching the glass doors, he saw himself in the reflection: a man barely able to walk with a patch over his eye, a split lip, and a face ripening into a bruise. That’s enough to scare the fur off a mountain lion.

He pushed through the doors and took a flyer from a teenage girl who stared at his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Rye told her.

A few minutes later, they approached the North Room where the meets were to take place. Rye leaned on Chee again. At this point, all he wanted to do was to locate Dee and find a seat.

Out of the swirl of crowd, a man carrying a tray of beers bumped into him, splashing Rye’s shirt.

“Hey,” Rye yelled, “watch it.”

“Hey yourself,” Beer Man started to say something else, but when he saw Rye’s face, he mumbled an apology and disappeared into the crowd.

At least my ugly mug is good for something.

Sunflower vanished into the swirl of people. Returning seconds later with a handful of napkins, she commenced on daubing the wet spots.

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