Read Online Comeback (Gun Pedersen Book 1) by L. L. Enger - Free Book Online
Authors: L. L. Enger
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through his gums, snapped his teeth into his mouth, and proceeded to carry on, congratulatory, weepy. Gun’s pretty daughter had gotten married. Gun hung up on him.
A fresh box of baseballs had arrived yesterday from the store in Minneapolis, the first of a dozen sporting goods stores Gun had purchased after retiring. Gun went into his bedroom, fished out the box from under the bed, grabbed his bat from behind the bedroom door and went outside to load the pitching machine.
He couldn’t remember being any better. His eyes were working so well he was able through concentra tion to make each pitch appear to slow down. He could see the red seams revolving, and merely had to put the meaty part of the bat on the ball. He took twenty swings and hit twelve baseballs out into the
water, home runs. He lined seven into trees, and fouled off just one. The last pitch he sent deep to center field, and the ball hit a dead limb thick as a man’s arm near the top of an old pine. The limb broke free at the trunk, toppled down and landed at the water’s edge. The ball continued on.
10
The hearing next day was held in the upper-level dining hall of the Muskie Lounge, a plush green room used on occasions when the persuasion of comfort was needed. It held about 150 with all the folding chairs in use, and at a quarter to twelve the room was getting noisy with people talking at each other over complimentary drinks. A hush fell briefly as Gun walked in. Some turned and looked at him, but it wasn’t long before the pitch of the room was back to normal.
Hedman was leaning against the wall at the front of the room, a prespeech drink in hand. Three smil ing men in pastel suits stood around him talking. Above their heads was a mammoth wall-mounted muskellunge, a treble-hooked Rapala in its angry mouth.
“I bet he got that other land,” said a woman’s voice behind Gun. The voice was middle-aged with a ciga rette scrape. Gun didn’t turn around. “I bet he got it, and has this whole damn thing in his pocket.”
“Got what other land?” said a male voice. “Who’d sell out to him? Besides, long as Larson’s on the county board, this thing’s just a dream.” Gun smiled to himself. He hadn’t been the last to find out after all.
“What do you think, that Larson’s pure? Because he’s a land and water freak?
“W hat if he is on the county board? It’s going to a referendum. Popular vote, you know the concept.”
“I’m serious,” said Melissa. “Old man Hedman bought Larson just like he bought these drinks.”
Gun turned his head just enough to suggest annoy ance with the conversation.
“Shh,” the man said.
Carol Long had arrived now and was moving grace fully among the county’s overweight stratum of im portance. Gun watched as she talked with Harold Amudson, her slender figure holding up a silver recorder the size of a cigarette pack. Harold Amudson was a town gas merchant. Until falling into Hedman’s camp, Harold’s idea of economic development had been to add another line of Little Debbie bars to the snack rack in his Standard station. Now he sold deli sandwiches and had a bright plastic roof over his gas pumps. Now he wore thin knit ties and bored anyone near him with schemes for development projects. There was a county board slot coming open in a year. Eight months before anyone cared, Harold was run ning for it.
“See you’re waiting for me!”
Gun knew the voice. Geoff Hedman, tall and smil ing, stood just within the wide double-entry. He wore a linen sport jacket, crisp Levi’s, and a Key West tan. To his right, three ladies in bowling jackets ducked and whispered. “Looking fine,” he told them. The women giggled.
Geoff walked through the center of the four lines of tables and straight to his father, who was still under the fish. Gun saw Hedman Senior speak to Hedman Junior and Junior nod a reply. Then Geoff stepped away from Hedman’s group and walked toward the men’s room.
Gun waited sixty
A fresh box of baseballs had arrived yesterday from the store in Minneapolis, the first of a dozen sporting goods stores Gun had purchased after retiring. Gun went into his bedroom, fished out the box from under the bed, grabbed his bat from behind the bedroom door and went outside to load the pitching machine.
He couldn’t remember being any better. His eyes were working so well he was able through concentra tion to make each pitch appear to slow down. He could see the red seams revolving, and merely had to put the meaty part of the bat on the ball. He took twenty swings and hit twelve baseballs out into the
water, home runs. He lined seven into trees, and fouled off just one. The last pitch he sent deep to center field, and the ball hit a dead limb thick as a man’s arm near the top of an old pine. The limb broke free at the trunk, toppled down and landed at the water’s edge. The ball continued on.
10
The hearing next day was held in the upper-level dining hall of the Muskie Lounge, a plush green room used on occasions when the persuasion of comfort was needed. It held about 150 with all the folding chairs in use, and at a quarter to twelve the room was getting noisy with people talking at each other over complimentary drinks. A hush fell briefly as Gun walked in. Some turned and looked at him, but it wasn’t long before the pitch of the room was back to normal.
Hedman was leaning against the wall at the front of the room, a prespeech drink in hand. Three smil ing men in pastel suits stood around him talking. Above their heads was a mammoth wall-mounted muskellunge, a treble-hooked Rapala in its angry mouth.
“I bet he got that other land,” said a woman’s voice behind Gun. The voice was middle-aged with a ciga rette scrape. Gun didn’t turn around. “I bet he got it, and has this whole damn thing in his pocket.”
“Got what other land?” said a male voice. “Who’d sell out to him? Besides, long as Larson’s on the county board, this thing’s just a dream.” Gun smiled to himself. He hadn’t been the last to find out after all.
“What do you think, that Larson’s pure? Because he’s a land and water freak?
“W hat if he is on the county board? It’s going to a referendum. Popular vote, you know the concept.”
“I’m serious,” said Melissa. “Old man Hedman bought Larson just like he bought these drinks.”
Gun turned his head just enough to suggest annoy ance with the conversation.
“Shh,” the man said.
Carol Long had arrived now and was moving grace fully among the county’s overweight stratum of im portance. Gun watched as she talked with Harold Amudson, her slender figure holding up a silver recorder the size of a cigarette pack. Harold Amudson was a town gas merchant. Until falling into Hedman’s camp, Harold’s idea of economic development had been to add another line of Little Debbie bars to the snack rack in his Standard station. Now he sold deli sandwiches and had a bright plastic roof over his gas pumps. Now he wore thin knit ties and bored anyone near him with schemes for development projects. There was a county board slot coming open in a year. Eight months before anyone cared, Harold was run ning for it.
“See you’re waiting for me!”
Gun knew the voice. Geoff Hedman, tall and smil ing, stood just within the wide double-entry. He wore a linen sport jacket, crisp Levi’s, and a Key West tan. To his right, three ladies in bowling jackets ducked and whispered. “Looking fine,” he told them. The women giggled.
Geoff walked through the center of the four lines of tables and straight to his father, who was still under the fish. Gun saw Hedman Senior speak to Hedman Junior and Junior nod a reply. Then Geoff stepped away from Hedman’s group and walked toward the men’s room.
Gun waited sixty
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