Read Online Deep Black by Stephen Coonts; Jim Defelice - Free Book Online

playing keep-away on the school ground. The swarm was not easily dodged, however; finally he got away from the
     thickest part of it by running full blast for about twenty yards and dropping to his knees.
    “They’re a bitch, aren’t they?” said Lia when she caught up.
    “You have bug spray?” he asked.
    “No.” She kept walking. It might have been his imagination, but the swarm didn’t seem to be bothering her.
    “You get used to them?” he asked.
    “Are you crazy?” She stopped. The land around them had gradually become drier; on their right a long, narrow field stretched
     to the horizon. Dust rose in the distance, a cyclone bent on its axis.
    “You’re the only woman I ever met who doesn’t carry a pocketbook,” said Dean.
    “You don’t get around much, do you?”
    A small van materialized in front of the approaching cyclone. Except for its oversize double tires and a raised suspension,
     the truck looked like a standard GM panel van, the type a small florist in the States might use for deliveries. Its radiator
     grille had a symbol made of Cyrillic characters; otherwise it had no markings.
    “Took you long enough,” said Lia, who had to reach up to pull open the door when it arrived.
    “Hello to you, too, Princess,” said the driver.
    “You’re in the back,” said Lia when Dean tried to follow.
    “Don’t worry. She’s always on the rag,” said the driver, a large blond man of about twenty-three wearing a Yankees cap. Dean
     walked to the back of the truck, half-expecting that it would take off and leave him stranded. He opened it and got in; cabbage
     leaves were strewn across the floor and there was an old wooden vegetable crate, but otherwise the rear was bare. Dean shut
     the door behind him and made his way toward the front, which was open except for a wide double bar with hooks for securing
     cargo.
    “Name’s Magnor-Karr,” said the driver, twisting around from the back. He stuck a thick hand out to Dean. “First name’s Kjartan,
     except nobody calls me that.”
    “What do they call you?”
    “Asshole,” said Lia.
    “Tommy,” said the driver. “Or Karr.” His hand was callused, as if he did heavy work. His accent sounded as if he were from
     Hoboken. He reminded Dean of a kid who’d worked the counter for him at one of his gas stations before his overextended business
     went south.
    “Charlie Dean.”
    “You’re our baby-sitter, huh?”
    “Not really,” said Dean.
    “Can we please get moving?” said Lia.
    Karr rolled his eyes for Dean, then turned and put the truck into reverse. He didn’t seem to use the mirrors and wasn’t going
     particularly slow.
    “If we go off into the swamp, I’m not pushing,” said Lia.
    “Not a problem,” answered Karr. “We’ll sink so fast you won’t have a chance to escape.”
    “Hmmmph,” said Lia, crossing her arms.
    “You up to speed?” he asked.
    “Of course,” she said.
    “I meant you, Charlie Dean,” said Karr. “You like ‘Charlie,’ right?”
    “If you’re a friend,” said Lia, in the sarcastic tone of a fifteen-year-old girl dissing friends at the mall.
    Karr laughed. He turned around—not to look where he was going but to talk to Dean. “You follow baseball?”
    “Sometimes.”
    “Man, I wish the Yankees would bring that kid Rosen up, don’t you think? Kid throws ninety-seven miles an hour, and he’s a
     friggin’ lefty. I mean, what are they waiting for?”
    “If you’re going to talk about baseball, I’ll just barf now,” said Lia.
    “Don’t do it on your clothes,” said Karr. “We don’t need to see you naked.”
    “You’d give your right nut to see me without clothes.”
    “Trashy mouth, too. All the ugly ones are like that. Some sort of compensation thing going on there,” said Karr. He turned
     and whipped the wheel of the van so hard Dean flew against the side. As he struggled to regain his balance, Dean realized
     they hadn’t tumbled off the path but merely come to a paved