Read Online By Blood Written by Steven Womack - Free Book Online Page A

few short blocks down the hill from the Tennessee State Capitol. The sun had finally burned off the worst of the gray cloud cover that seemed to hang over Nashville for weeks at a time during the winter months. A dazzling, clear blue sky, accompanied by temperatures in the mid-thirties, had begun to melt off the worst of the black ice that Greenwood knew was waiting to ensnare careless drivers at the foot of the exit ramp.
    Shaded by the freeway bridge and the traffic passing overhead, the ramp always seemed to be the last place to show pavement again after a thaw. Since the cold front had moved in five days ago, bringing with it the worst ice storm in a decade, Greenwood had already written up a dozen accidents at this very spot.
    The light on Charlotte changed to red, and Greenwood lightly tapped the brakes of the Ford. She felt the rear wheels begin to slide and was instinctively beginning her counter-steer when the wheels caught and the car slowed. Four years on the force—and four Februarys patrolling the dangerous winter streets of Nashville—had taught her to stay ahead of the curve, to anticipate the dangers that might lie in front of her. More than once, that instinct had served her well.
    The light in front of her changed, and Greenwood slowly lifted her foot from the brake pedal. True to form, though, a kid in a Toyota to her left raced the yellow and ran through the light just as her squad car began moving.
    “Typical,” Greenwood groused, briefly considering pulling the car over and issuing a ticket. But it was cold outside, and she was near the end of a long shift. The overtime gods had been good to Debbie Greenwood this winter, but one can have too much of a good thing. Feeling slightly guilty at letting the kid off, in addition to irritated, Greenwood pulled out onto Charlotte Avenue and turned left, heading away from downtown and out toward Centennial Park.
    A half mile or so down, Greenwood wheeled her squad car into the parking lot of a convenience store that perched on the edge of a large housing project. The store had been robbed three times this year already, and the desk sergeant had asked that all patrol officers try to do a drive-by at least once a shift. Greenwood didn’t mind; the coffee was hot and fresh, and the clerks were always glad to see her.
    As she parked the car, she spotted an elderly black man in a ragtag overcoat, torn stocking cap, and dirty, worn Nikes pushing a grocery cart down the sidewalk through the gray slush and onto the parking lot of the convenience store.
    Greenwood smiled, knowing what was coming next. Like most of the other Central Sector patrol officers, she knew that despite a lifetime in prison, the old man—known only as “Pops”—was completely harmless, if a bit disconcerting at first.
    Greenwood parked the squad car and sat there for a few seconds with the motor running. As Pops struggled to push his grocery cart through the slowly melting frozen mud, Greenwood turned the car ignition off and stepped out of the Ford. A bitter wind caught her square in the face, causing her to shiver and pull her jacket tighter around her shoulders.
    “Hey, Officah!” Pops called out from the other side of the parking lot.
    “Hey, Pops,” Greenwood answered. “You keeping warm?”
    “Yeah, but I just got me one question.”
    Greenwood smiled, knowing what was coming. “What is it?”
    “You ever let a ol’ niggah eat yo’ pussy?”
    Greenwood cleared her throat, thankful that the parking lot was empty except for the two of them.
    “No, Pops, can’t say I ever have.”
    The old man smiled a toothless, pink grin at her. “Well, you evah decide to, you call me, ya hear?”
    “Sure thing, Pops. I’ll let you know.” Greenwood turned toward the front door of the market. “You want a coffee?”
    she yelled back over her shoulder.
    Greenwood knew Pops had been banned from the store years ago. If he wanted anything from inside, somebody else had to get it for