A Haven for the Damned (Black Gat Books Book 1) by Harry Whittington

Author:Harry Whittington [Whittington, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9781933586755
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2019-11-17T11:00:00+00:00

13

Carrdell removed the knives, wires and blood-stained cloths, carrying them through the rear door toward the kitchen.

Susan pulled the straight chair close to the couch where she could watch Matt. She could not believe his suffering had been relieved so magically and that he had gone into deep sleep. She moved her eyes, studying his face: it looked smooth and young again, even if it was still gray, and his breathing was even.

Reed Hall came around the couch, picked up the bottle of shine.

Milly gave him a mild, condescending smile, but then she turned, staring with a faint frown through the rear door where Carrdell had gone.

Reed carried the bottle to the fireplace. He took a deep drink. He shuddered all the way through. For a moment he thought he would vomit; it was hotter than three spoons of tabasco sauce.

He leaned against the fieldstones, glanced at Milly. She wasn’t looking at him, she was watching that rear door, but still he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of laughing at him because he couldn’t hold this moonshine.

He gripped the bottle, and then saw that Duncan was watching him with an odd smile. Duncan was sitting at the old kitchen table now, braced against it, his own face pasty. The hell with you, Harvey J. Duncan.

Reed took another quick drink. This one sat easier, and he knew he had it made. He went over to the big chair, flopped into it with bottle in one hand, cork in the other. He’d found a friend in Lust, New Mexico.

Poole had not moved, but now he stood up behind the couch, licking his mouth. He moved his heated gaze over Susan one more time, then walked to where Fletcher was standing, half across the lobby from the mongrel, but still staring at it with twisted smile.

“He’s scared of me, Poole.”

“What?”

“The mutt. I can’t stand a dog that ain’t scared of me. Look at that mutt. He gets the runs just looking at me. Give me a little time, I’d have that mutt crawling on its belly.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Poole glanced toward George, but wasn’t interested. Sometimes this Fletcher was a real weirdo.

“Mutt wanted to bite me.” Fletcher laughed. “He was scared to do it.”

“Crazy. Reckon he’s scared he’ll get rabies. Huh?”

“Funny boy. You’re funny.”

“Fletch. Look. We got to get moving. We ain’t got no time to fool around with mutts. That farmer hick has got the bullet out of Bishop. Why don’t we get moving?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Tell Bishop’s wife what she’s got to do. Tell her why we’re up here, and why we got her up here. We stalled long enough, Fletch. Too long.”

Fletcher pulled his twisted, smiling face from George to Susan Bishop on the chair beside the sleeping Matt. He nodded, glancing once more at the dog. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right. I’ll talk to the chick.”

Poole stared at Fletcher, frowning. No time for dames, but worrying about a vicious dog. A real weirdy.

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