Phineas Troutt Series - Three Thriller Novels (Dead On My Feet #1, Dying Breath #2, Everybody Dies #3) by Konrath J.A

Author:Konrath, J.A. [Konrath, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: General Fiction
Published: 2018-04-24T16:00:00+00:00

HARRY

When we last left our hero, me, my dick condo manager had been shot by some sniper who was perched in the high-rise across the street, I was pinned down and couldn’t get to my phone, my horse, Rover, was trying to stand up, and I’d learned the hard way that horseshit doesn’t stick to windows.

And I had no idea what to do.

Was surrendering an option? Did waving a white flag work anywhere outside of old Saturday morning cartoons? Did I even have anything white to wave?

“Hey, condo guy. You look like the tighty-whitey type. Give me your underwear.”

I was not a tighty-whitey type. McGlade rolled commando-style, everything swinging free like nature intended.

“Doctor…” he wheezed.

“Yeah, you really need a doctor, Looks like you’re already down a pint. Hey!” I had a flash of inspiration. “Got a cell phone?”

“Pock… pocket…”

“Can you reach it?”

He fumbled around for his pocket, his coordination really bad. Probably from blood loss. Then he passed out. Or died.

What a dick.

But I had no time to mourn the dick condo manager who I hated. For Rover’s sake, I had to get us out of here.

Think, Harry! Look around you! Find something to use!

Hiding behind my big, expensive, heavy sofa, I looked around my condo to see what I could see. The phone was too far away. Condo manager was too far away. There were several fifty pound bags of kitty litter, and they might slow down a bullet, but it wasn’t like I could pick up four bags and make a run for it.

Or could I?

I reached out my fake hand to grab the nearest kitty litter bag, and slowly tugged it over.

The sniper shot it, and litter erupted out like a small, absorbent volcano.

“Can’t we just wait for dark?” Rover, talking in my head in that yokel voice.

“Might have a night scope.”

“We could wait until someone comes over.”

“Who? Maids just quit. I don’t have any family or friends.”

“Wow. You’re a loser, Harry.”

My subconscious apparently hated me.

“Maybe it’s your subconscious shooting at us.”

I gave Rover a reassuring pat on the head, knowing it was me, not him. Then I saw it. Under my sofa. A paper plate that my rude cleaning service had missed.

A white paper plate.

“Maybe we can surrender,” I said, clamping it between my robotic figures, then waving the ersatz flag above the sofa.

The sniper put a bullet through the center of the plate.

I was really beginning to dislike this person trying to kill me.

A groan, from the dick condo manager, who apparently was still among the living.

“Hey!” I yelled at him. “Throw me your phone!”

He groaned again, but made no attempt to throw me his phone. Some guys just can’t take a bullet.

So how long could I actually stay behind the sofa? Hours? Days?

That would be boring as hell. Especially since I couldn’t reach the TV remote.

“Don’t worry,” I told Rover. “No matter how bad it gets, I won’t eat you. But you’ve got to promise me the same, buddy.”

Rover didn’t respond. I wondered if he was just biding his time, waiting for me to sleep, and then he’d chow down on my face.

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