The Devil's Right Hand by J.D. Rhoades

Author:J.D. Rhoades
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Romance, north carolina, hard boiled, bounty hunter, redneck noir, Thriller
Publisher: J.D. Rhoades
Published: 2012-01-16T00:08:33+00:00

What this Debbie lacked in looks, DeWayne thought, she made up in enthusiasm, at least once he had used some of his dwindling money supply to get her a supply of rocks. He lay back on the bed, feeling as if all of the fluid had been drained from his body. Debbie sat at the other end of the bed, naked. She was preparing another hit of the rock cocaine, using the pipe she had constructed out of a beer can. She had punched a hole down at one end and made a bowl out of tinfoil, taping the bowl in place with electrical tape. She lit up with a disposable plastic lighter, cranking the flame up all the way so it sputtered like a tiny flamethrower. Debbie applied the flame to the bowl and drew deeply on the smoke. She threw her head back, her eyes closed in ecstasy, and held the smoke in her lungs. DeWayne looked away, feeling a little queasy. He had never heard anyone say anything good about crack. It seemed to keep Debbie happy and horny, though, so he put up with it.

He focused on the TV behind her. It was another one of the things about Debbie that DeWayne found disquieting. She always had to have something playing:, radio, CD player, TV. It was as if she was afraid of silence. Even when they were doing it, she had to have the TV on. He was sure she wasn’t watching it as they did it, though. Pretty sure.

Debbie reached the end of her lungs’ endurance and blew a long stream of smoke out her nostrils. She lowered her head and looked at DeWayne. Her eyes were bright and glassy. “Meeee-ow,” she leered at him. She started crawling up the bed towards him, her small breasts swinging beneath her.

“Aww, c’mon, honey,” DeWayne said, trying not to make it sound like a whine. ”I’m spent.”

She stuck out her lower lip. “You ought to try you one of these rocks,” she said. “It’d put lead in your pencil.” She began rubbing her cheek against his thigh, just above the knee. DeWayne closed his eyes. She was starting to get to him again. Suddenly, the TV caught his attention.

“Hey,” he said, “turn that up.”

“Huh?” she replied, but he was crawling past her. She squealed in protest as he almost knocked her off the bed. The room was so small that DeWayne could lean off the end of the bed and reach the volume control.

The 11:00 o’clock news was on. Over the shoulder of the pretty young anchorwoman, DeWayne could see a little box. In the box was the face of the guy who had stuffed him in the trunk.“...in connection with a shootout in Fayetteville that left two men dead, another critically wounded, and which may have been connected with the later shooting of a Fayetteville police officer.” The newscaster’s face dissolved to a videotape of the Crown Vic being pulled out of the ditch by a wrecker.

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