Read Online Blues in the Night by Dick Lochte - Free Book Online Page B

mugging style,’ Mace said, handing over his wallet.
    The Brit gave its contents a quick study. ‘Mr Mason is it? Do tell us what you find so alluring about this part of Southern California.’
    â€˜What’s not to like?’
    â€˜We were thinking you may be interested in a resident of Point Dume Estates.’
    â€˜Don’t know a soul there,’ Mace said.
    The Elvis cowboy whipped his gun out again. ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire,’ he said, and jammed its barrel into Mace’s side. It hurt.
    â€˜Timmie!’ the Brit said. ‘Put the gun away.’
    Timmie the Elvis cowboy glared at him. ‘He told a lie. You punish me when I tell a lie,’ he said. Then, with an elaborate twirl of the gun he plopped it into its holster.
    â€˜He’s very intuitive,’ the Brit said to Mace. ‘Of course, even I know you’re lying.’ He leaned forward and said loudly enough for the chauffeur to hear, ‘Sweets, plug in the name “David Mason”, Louisiana driver’s license EQ3256987.’
    He repeated the license number and returned the wallet to Mace who stuck it in his pocket without much thought. He was too intrigued by the chauffeur. The more he saw of him the more familiar he seemed. He shifted to get a better view, but the chauffeur turned his head away. His mouth was moving. Possibly mumbling to himself, but more likely taking to some distant party via a hidden device.
    â€˜You could save us time and effort, Mr Mason, if you simply told us why you were parked where we found you.’
    â€˜I was about to take a snooze,’ Mace said.
    The Brit sighed again. ‘Perhaps you could tell us the name of your employer?’
    â€˜I’m self-employed. But I’m not working now. I’m on vacation.’
    â€˜He-e’s fib-bing,’ Timmie said in sing-song. He leaned closer to Mace and whispered. ‘Do not lie to Thomas. My brother can be mean. He won’t let me eat chocolate.’
    Mace looked at the Brit whose name was apparently Thomas. ‘Timmie’s your brother?’
    For a moment Thomas’s face seemed to soften. But only for a moment. ‘When Timmie was born, an attendant at the hospital made a mistake,’ he said. ‘One thousand cc’s of something or other, instead of one hundred. I was six at the time. Unaware of how that little mistake might affect both our lives.’
    â€˜He good for anything besides comic relief,’ Mace asked.
    Timmie’s huge right hand suddenly grabbed Mace’s throat and began to squeeze.
    Mace gasped and clutched at Timmie’s fingers, trying to pry them free.
    â€˜TIMMIE!’ his brother shouted. ‘LET HIM GO!’
    Timmie didn’t obey.
    His fingers were like iron, unyielding. Within seconds, Mace felt his strength and his life ebbing away.
    Then, suddenly, the hand was gone and he slumped forward experiencing a hot flush as his blood started to circulate again. Timmie was happily playing with a Rubik’s Cube that his brother had used to distract him. His large fingers, the same ones that had nearly choked Mace to death, were moving the sections of the Cube quickly and efficiently.
    â€˜Sorry about that, Mason,’ the Brit whispered to him. ‘But you mustn’t nettle him. He may be mentally challenged but physically he’s . . . well, you’ve experienced his strength.’
    â€˜Were you talking about me?’ Timmie asked. He tossed the Cube back to his brother, its puzzle solved. ‘What were you saying?’
    â€˜Your brother says you’re very strong,’ Mace said.
    â€˜I am. I am . . . like Superman. I have a Superman costume I wear sometimes. Don’t I, Thomas?’
    â€˜Yes, you do.’
    â€˜No Batman costume?’ Mace asked.
    â€˜Batman is ugly,’ Timmie said. ‘Superman is handsome. Like Timmie. I have a lot of costumes. I make movies.’
    â€˜Silence, Timmie,’ his