Read Online Death On a No 8 Hook (A Willows and Parker Mystery) by Laurence Gough - Free Book Online Page B

past the patio and the sixty-foot pool, down the long sloping lawn towards the ocean. There were thick wooden planks on weathered poles and a series of narrow wooden steps to get them past the fragile, crumbling dunes. Felix had made a side trip to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles of Kirin beer from the fridge. He and Misha drank steadily as they stumbled along through the debris at the high-tide line, heading south towards San Diego, giggling like a couple of kids as they clumsily tried to avoid the hiss and rumble and froth of the incoming surf. Junior kept himself occupied by watching Misha’s small pointed breasts bouncing around under her halter top. With maddening frequency, Felix tripped himself up and fell full-length and without apparent resistance, his ancient wrinkled face turning into a mask of fine white sand. Resentfully, Junior rinsed him off with hatfuls of ocean while Misha poured Kirin beer over both of them.
    As soon as he could see again, Felix got right back at it. Grinning and laughing and reaching out to slap ass, he chased Misha up and down the beach.
    Splat! Another face full of sand.
    Junior plodded along behind them, his shoulders hunched. He made a point of keeping his distance. It felt as if Misha had filled the wicker basket with anvils. His Colt .357 Magnum with the ribbed and ventilated nine-inch barrel kept rubbing against his hipbone, chafing his skin and forcing him to walk with a crablike sideways shuffle he knew must make him look like a fool. He squinted at the orange ball of the sun, balanced unnaturally on the convex rim of the horizon. Although he had grown up in southern California, he somehow had never managed to adjust to the weather. He wiped sweat from his eyes, and found himself wondering what the weather was like back in Vancouver. Raining, probably.
    Up ahead, Felix didn’t so much stop walking as simply decide to sit down in mid-stride. When Junior caught up with him, he said, “This looks as good a spot as any. Let’s eat.”
    Misha had folded a fringed tartan blanket over the food. Junior helped her spread it out on the sand. Inside the basket there were a dozen tall brown bottles of Kirin beer, a whole roast chicken, a loaf of brown bread shaped like an iron from the European bakery at Laguna Beach, a thick crystal bowl full of cherry tomatoes, a foot-long English cucumber, and a sterling silver setting for six in a mahogany box. No wonder Junior’s back ached. He sat down with his back to the ocean and the rising sun, and took off his shoes. He yawned hugely, making a lot of noise.
    Misha quartered the chicken. She sliced up the loaf as neatly as a machine. Felix cracked open three bottles of Kirin beer. He and Misha began to eat, Felix whuffling and snorting like a pig, making a lot of noise.
    Junior had eaten three cold roast beef dinners on the plane. He wasn’t hungry. He passed the time seeing how thin he could slice the cucumber. The knife was sharp, and he had a steady hand. Wheels as limp as tissue-paper and almost as transparent as glass fell one after another into his lap. Misha and Felix watched him raptly as they ate. After a little while Junior became aware of all the attention he was getting. He lost his concentration, cut deeply into the ball of his thumb. Blood welled up, spilled across his cupped palm. Nobody said anything. Junior sucked at his wound. When the bleeding had finally stopped he looked up and saw that Misha had fallen asleep with her mouth open and that Felix was staring sightlessly out at the ocean, as if mesmerized by the steady pounding of the waves.
    Junior drank some beer. He watched Misha’s breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
    “Ain’t she cute?” said Felix.
    Junior nodded.
    “How’s the cut?”
    “Just a scratch.”
    “Let’s have a look at it.”
    Obediently, Junior held out his hand. Felix grabbed the thumb and squeezed hard. A single fat globule of bright red blood appeared. Felix nodded thoughtfully, and