Read Online Firebreak: A Mystery by Tricia Fields - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tricia Fields
Ads: Link
local celebrity in his own right. Country singers in the area knew that if they wanted an audience, they had to develop a performance Hank would buy. If he didn’t like your act, you might as well pack up and move elsewhere, because the Hell-Bent was where it was at.
No billboards advertised the dance hall; they weren’t necessary. A metal sign hung between two massive poles at the entrance to the lane that read H ELL- B ENT H ONKY- T ONK , but an out-of-towner could easily mistake it for one of the surrounding ranches and drive on by. From the road, the building appeared to be a large hay barn, but a trip down the long drive revealed a gravel parking area large enough for several hundred people, with spillover parking in the desert beyond. At night, there was little doubt what the Hell-Bent was about: outdoor pole lighting and lanterns strung along the roofline lit up the building, and the bands and the rowdy crowd could be heard for miles.
At a little before noon Josie pulled into the parking lot and counted about fifteen cars, most likely people searching for solace among friends until information could be discovered about the status of their homes and their property. Josie knew they would be frustrated with her when she wasn’t able to provide information. She grabbed her steno pad from the passenger seat and locked the jeep.
The barn was weathered gray and covered in handmade signs that local performers were invited to display to advertise their acts. The band signs had become more artistic, and more outrageous, as the years had progressed. Hank strategically moved the signs to keep the front-runners near the entrance. Josie noticed that Billy Nix’s sign hung on the porch, just a few feet from the front door—a prime location. Billy’s three-foot-wide sign was a carved replica of a rugged cowboy hat with the words “Outlaw Billy Nix” carved into the hat brim. Josie thought of how sad it would be if his life ended before he received the big break he’d worked so hard to achieve.
The barn’s substantial wooden door opened onto a dance hall the size of a basketball court. After driving into the bright afternoon sun, Josie had to allow her eyes to adjust for a moment. The shiny wooden dance floor was empty and swept clean. A few overhead lights were turned on, but otherwise the space was barely lit. Hank served sandwiches and other greasy bar food, but it was secondary to the music. No one cared if the fries were cold as long as the bands were hot.
Opposite the front entrance, on the far side of the dance floor, was a raised stage where Josie and Dillon had last watched Billy Nix perform almost a year ago. She remembered having a conversation with Dillon about how there was often a fine line between the great local bands and the stars who played on the radio. They had agreed that night that Billy and the Outlaws sounded as good as any band they’d ever heard at a larger venue.
Josie walked toward the bar, where half a dozen men sat on stools. Another ten or fifteen men and women sat at the tables. The TV on the wall was on, but the volume was down. Hank was talking to the men sitting at the bar and didn’t notice her approach. When she reached the men, Sauly Magson, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the row, spotted her and called out, “Chief!”
Sauly was one of Josie’s favorite locals. He was an old hippie burnout who didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was dressed in ragged blue-jean shorts and a ripped T-shirt, and he wore nothing on his feet, allowing his leathered soles to serve as his shoes. The “No shoes, no shirt, no service” motto had never applied to Sauly, at least not in Artemis.
“Hey, Sauly. How you doing?” Josie patted Sauly on the back and felt the attention in the bar shift to her, the conversation die out to nothing. She knew people were desperate for information, so she backed up to see most everyone and raised her voice. “I’m not here to give an official
No billboards advertised the dance hall; they weren’t necessary. A metal sign hung between two massive poles at the entrance to the lane that read H ELL- B ENT H ONKY- T ONK , but an out-of-towner could easily mistake it for one of the surrounding ranches and drive on by. From the road, the building appeared to be a large hay barn, but a trip down the long drive revealed a gravel parking area large enough for several hundred people, with spillover parking in the desert beyond. At night, there was little doubt what the Hell-Bent was about: outdoor pole lighting and lanterns strung along the roofline lit up the building, and the bands and the rowdy crowd could be heard for miles.
At a little before noon Josie pulled into the parking lot and counted about fifteen cars, most likely people searching for solace among friends until information could be discovered about the status of their homes and their property. Josie knew they would be frustrated with her when she wasn’t able to provide information. She grabbed her steno pad from the passenger seat and locked the jeep.
The barn was weathered gray and covered in handmade signs that local performers were invited to display to advertise their acts. The band signs had become more artistic, and more outrageous, as the years had progressed. Hank strategically moved the signs to keep the front-runners near the entrance. Josie noticed that Billy Nix’s sign hung on the porch, just a few feet from the front door—a prime location. Billy’s three-foot-wide sign was a carved replica of a rugged cowboy hat with the words “Outlaw Billy Nix” carved into the hat brim. Josie thought of how sad it would be if his life ended before he received the big break he’d worked so hard to achieve.
The barn’s substantial wooden door opened onto a dance hall the size of a basketball court. After driving into the bright afternoon sun, Josie had to allow her eyes to adjust for a moment. The shiny wooden dance floor was empty and swept clean. A few overhead lights were turned on, but otherwise the space was barely lit. Hank served sandwiches and other greasy bar food, but it was secondary to the music. No one cared if the fries were cold as long as the bands were hot.
Opposite the front entrance, on the far side of the dance floor, was a raised stage where Josie and Dillon had last watched Billy Nix perform almost a year ago. She remembered having a conversation with Dillon about how there was often a fine line between the great local bands and the stars who played on the radio. They had agreed that night that Billy and the Outlaws sounded as good as any band they’d ever heard at a larger venue.
Josie walked toward the bar, where half a dozen men sat on stools. Another ten or fifteen men and women sat at the tables. The TV on the wall was on, but the volume was down. Hank was talking to the men sitting at the bar and didn’t notice her approach. When she reached the men, Sauly Magson, who was sitting on a stool at the end of the row, spotted her and called out, “Chief!”
Sauly was one of Josie’s favorite locals. He was an old hippie burnout who didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was dressed in ragged blue-jean shorts and a ripped T-shirt, and he wore nothing on his feet, allowing his leathered soles to serve as his shoes. The “No shoes, no shirt, no service” motto had never applied to Sauly, at least not in Artemis.
“Hey, Sauly. How you doing?” Josie patted Sauly on the back and felt the attention in the bar shift to her, the conversation die out to nothing. She knew people were desperate for information, so she backed up to see most everyone and raised her voice. “I’m not here to give an official
Similar Books
