Read Online Dead Winter by William G. Tapply - Free Book Online Page B

slippery with our mingled sweat. His breath against my face reeked of last night’s beer and offended as much as his prodding and gouging knees and elbows.
    Abruptly his weight was off me. I pushed myself into a sitting position. My breath burned in my lungs. Damn cigarettes.
    Marc had his forearm levered across Al’s throat. The big guy stood there panting. “Lemme at the bassard,” he rasped.
    “Take it easy, Al,” said Marc. “You got a problem with this man?”
    “He was hittin’ on Andy. Nobody hits on Andy.”
    “I was just trying to sell her insurance,” I said quickly, to clue in Marc. “Mr. Winter here is going to buy some.”
    “That’s right,” said Marc. “This man is an insurance salesman.”
    “I don’t fuckin’ believe that,” muttered Al. But his mouth screwed up stupidly, as if the concept was difficult for him.
    I stood up and held out my hand to Al. “Hey, no hard feelings, sir,” I said. “Little misunderstanding.”
    Al jerked himself out of Marc’s grasp and stood there, bulging arms hanging, his big chest heaving. “I was watchin’ this sombitch in there,” he said, looking at me but talking to Marc. “No fuckin’ way he was sellin’ insurance. I’m gonna find out what the hell’s goin’ on. The tramp’s gonna pay.”
    “Come on,” I said. “Shake my hand.”
    Al turned his head and spat. It landed beside my foot. “I ain’t stupid,” he muttered, and turned and lumbered away.
    Marc and I watched him go. He climbed into a rusted old pickup with wood two-by-tens for bumpers. It started up with a roar, spewing a great cloud of exhaust, and spun its wheels in the gravel as it left.
    “You better tell Andy what happened,” I said to Marc after Al’s truck had left. “Make sure she keeps the story straight.”
    He nodded. “Al’ll beat the shit out of her anyhow.”
    “I told him I was trying to sell her insurance.”
    “He doesn’t believe that. He didn’t believe you, he won’t believe her.”
    “We’re stuck with the story. It’s the best I could do under the circumstances.”
    Marc shrugged. “The gals in the restaurant all know Al. They’ll cover for her. I’ll be right back.”
    Marc went inside. I went over to my car. I leaned against it and gingerly touched my skull. I discovered a small tender lump where Al’s fist had connected with what was, fortunately, a glancing blow on thick bone. I found a small tear on the left knee of my pants. My shirt was dirty. Otherwise I seemed to be none the worse for the experience.
    Once upon a time I could handle myself. I played sports. I was quick and strong. I had my share of brawls. I was gifted with quick reflexes, limber muscles, an instinct for self-defense. But this time, I realized, I had been lucky. Al was fat and slow and unskilled. Yet had not Marc interceded I could have been hurt badly. The years had eroded my athlete’s graces, leaving, I had to admit, an out-of-condition middle-aged man at the mercy of bullies like Al.
    Yale Law School did not teach us the gentleman’s arts. There had been times during my practice of the law when I felt it was an inexcusable omission.
    Marc returned. “I told her. She’s petrified of the guy. But she’ll stick to the story. You tried to sell her insurance. She told you she wasn’t interested. Still,” he added, “you ought to be careful. Al’s not a guy to fool around with.”
    “Ah, he’s not so tough.”
    Marc cocked his head and examined me. He grinned. “It’s all relative.”
    “You probably should take care yourself.”
    He nodded.
    We got into the car and headed back to Des’s house. “Andy corroborated your story,” I said.
    Marc nodded. “Of course she did.”
    “You’ve put her into a tough spot.”
    “I didn’t know Maggie was going to get killed,” he said softly.
    I pulled into Des’s driveway. Marc got out of the car and then leaned in. “Why don’t you come in, get yourself cleaned up?”
    “Good idea.”
    Des was