Read Online Dead Last by James W. Hall - Free Book Online Page A

to the fire. He took out the pistol, checked the magazine to make sure it was loaded, and set it on the ground at his feet, then tossed her silkies into the flames.
    He watched them crinkle and turn to smoke, then peeled off his shorts and the gray T-shirt he was wearing and slung them into the fire on top of Rusty’s stuff. Then he stripped off his undershorts and tossed them too. Let their smoke mingle and rise to the sky, and blow away.
    Standing naked and barefoot on the soft grass, Thorn stared into the blaze where something in the pile was releasing streamers of blue and green and yellow, like bright ribbons intertwined in the yellow flames. Birthday bows and frilly Christmas decorations coiling into the dark.
    A breeze carried the smoke away and his lungs filled with cleaner air.
    He picked up the pistol, lifted it, took aim at the fire.
    He fired and fired twice more and then a fourth time and was about to empty the weapon when a car’s headlights swept across the yard and settled on him. Whoever it was flicked on their brights and cut the engine.
    Thorn, naked, holding a half-empty pistol, had an audience.
    Through the smoke and dazzle of the headlights he made out the car door opening and a shadow stepping out.
    “Excuse me, sir. Is everything okay?” A woman’s voice. A stranger.
    Thorn said nothing. She reached back into the car and turned off the headlights and walked slowly across the lawn toward the flames. She appeared to be a blocky woman with short hair, wearing trousers and a loose-fitting shirt.
    Thorn stepped around the fire.
    “I was driving past and heard the gunfire. Everything all right?”
    “Everything’s fine. No problem. You can go about your business.”
    The woman held her ground, head tipped forward, squinting through the smoky darkness.
    “Well, you see, that’s the thing. I think you may be my business.”
    “You’re wrong. I’m nobody’s business.”
    “Are you Daniel Oliver Thorn?”
    He didn’t reply.
    “Though I believe people just call you Thorn. Am I in the right place?”
    “That’s my name.”
    “Whew, I wasn’t sure. It’s so dark out here, no house numbers.”
    “It’s the middle of the night. What do you want?”
    “Valid question, yes, sir, it certainly is. Actually, I hadn’t meant to stop. My plane got into Miami late, I picked up my rental, drove down to find a motel, then I thought maybe I’d try to find your place to mark the spot for tomorrow. ’Cause that was my intention, to drop by at a decent hour. But I saw the fire, heard gunshots. No way I could drive on.”
    “What is this?”
    “You’re the husband of the late Rachel Anne Stabler, known as Rusty?”
    Thorn was silent. His body had hardened, lips too stiff to speak.
    “I’ve caught you at an awkward moment. Buck naked, firing a pistol into a bonfire. Maybe it’s normal around here. What you folks do in the Keys, a ritual or whatever. I heard things down here get a little strange. But sir, wouldn’t you feel more comfortable putting on a pair of pants? Setting that pistol on the ground. I know I’d be more easy.”
    There was something wrong with her face. He couldn’t make it out in the flickering firelight, bad acne scars or burns.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Well, okay, since I’m here, I guess we could do this now if you want.”
    “I asked your name.”
    “All right. My name’s Buddha. Buddha Hilton.”
    “Don’t fuck with me.”
    “No, sir, I’m not doing that. That’s my given name. It’s strange, yeah. My old man was a New Age lunatic. Buddha was a big deal to him.”
    “Stand over here where I can see you.”
    He motioned with Rusty’s .45, and the young woman complied, stepping to her left. She had her hands clasped behind her back like a monk in prayerful contemplation.
    “Mr. Thorn, you’re going to have to put that weapon down. I’m a police officer, and having a gun pointed at me, well, that’s something I can’t abide.”
    “You’re no police