Donovan Creed Books 3-4 by John Locke

Author:John Locke
Language: deu
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781854389
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd.
Published: 2011-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

11.

THE FIRE ANTS hurt like a son-of-a-bitch!

From the time I pulled the kid off the ant hill I’d been dying to experience the sensation. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t plan to get swarmed like the kid, but I figured a couple dozen or so would give me the buzz I’d been missing these past weeks. Though I had an EpiPen in my pocket, I wasn’t worried about anaphylactic shock, since Dr. Carstairs had said it’s usually the second attack that gets you, not the first.

I let them feast on my flesh a few seconds before standing up and crushing them. A few got into my crotch and bit me hard enough to make my lower lip twitch. I figured to let the bites heal and come back every few days to see if I could build up a resistance.

By the time I got to the car I was feeling dizzy. It wouldn’t take too many bites to go beyond the point of no return, so I made a mental note to be extra careful the next time. According to Dr. Carstairs, each exposure is exponentially more dangerous than the previous one.

I checked my watch; figured Rachel wouldn’t care if I made a quick detour. I drove to the hardware store on Sixth and Coastal, got three feet in the door before the owner asked, “You the one taking over for Rip at The Seaside?”

“Was Rip the old caretaker?”

“Yep.”

“Then, yep.”

The owner was big and burly, with enormous fiery-red mutton chops that covered the entire space between his nose and lower lip. He wore a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Had a tattoo of a ship’s anchor on one forearm, and a dancing girl on the other. Wore his pants low, beneath his beer belly, with no belt. He sized me up. “You don’t look much like a caretaker, you don’t mind me saying so.”

“I’m more of a cook with a squirrel problem.”

“You guys serve squirrel over there? Fried squirrel, milk gravy?”

The assistant manager sauntered over. He was tall and gaunt, with facial skin so leathery you could strop a razor on it. He wore a patch on his work shirt that told anyone who cared that he was Earl. It had been quite a while since I’d seen anyone saunter, and I took a minute to watch him. It’s kind of a lost art and Earl was good at it.

“Let’s start over,” I said. I put out my hand. “I’m Donovan Creed.”

The big man took it. “I’m Jimbo Pim, this here’s Earl Stout.”

I nodded at Earl and concluded the handshake and said, “I’m the caretaker and breakfast chef at The Seaside. I’ve got the breakfast part down, but I need some kind of bomb or spray to kill the squirrels and other varmints in the attic.”

Jimbo rubbed his beard in a practiced manner with his thumb and index finger.

“Is Beth planning to shut the place down a few weeks?”

“No.”

“Then I’d recommend against the bomb. Puts one hell of a sulfur stink in the air, takes about two weeks to get ‘er gone.

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