Read Online KNIGHT'S REPORTS: 3 Book Set by Gordon Kessler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gordon Kessler
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somewhat crooked, out of kilter. Even the street lamp beside it was twisted and bent. Overhead, the heavy grey clouds had cleared, and wisps of white rushed over a bright blue mantle. I could actually see the sun trekking across the sky.
“Oh, shit!” I said to myself. I’ve been drugged.
Chapter 9
Black Zack's Brassy Jazz
The front door of the horn shop was wide open, and large blow flies buzzed inside in the shaded, cooler air.
When I stepped in, my eyes took time to adjust — too long. I still felt the effects of some kind of hallucinogenic I’d been subjected to in either the orange dust at the Voodoo shop, or from the scratch on the back of my hand — or both. And I was pretty sure both had come from the same source, the mysterious woman in the yellow sundress, Marie Paris Dumesnil de Glapion.
I moved cautiously through the cluttered shop to the counter at the far wall. Billie Holiday sang “Strange Fruit” in the background from scratchy vinyl that didn’t do “Lady Day” justice. Still the music and lyrics about lynchings in the Old South were haunting.
A lone fan blew the stale but cooler air as it oscillated lazily. Figuring the proprietor or his help might be in a back room, I eased around the end of the counter toward a closed interior side door.
Still difficult to see through the clutter and shadows around me, I had an uneasy feeling about this place. Perhaps Lance Corporal Billy White Cloud was here. Perhaps I would find him tied up in the back. Perhaps I’d find him dead, stuffed into an old crate.
Bright yellow eyes suddenly appeared in the dark aisle before me, staring from a couple feet above the floor. It told me two things: I was still very much under the influence of some sort of mind-altering drug, and a malevolent force, that I was in no condition to fight, blocked me from going any farther. The thing gave a warning growl and stepped from the shadow. It was huge, wide as a horse and its coat was ablaze.
Suddenly it came at me, and when it opened its mouth, all I saw were huge teeth.
In the same instant a shout came from the open doorway, “El-lah!” something hard hit me on the back of the head.
With the clash of a gong, I passed out.
* * *
I awoke with something warm and wet rubbing across my mouth.
The thing staring me face-to-face was covered in golden brown fur, had long, floppy ears and a tongue that seemed to be at least three feet long. Between licks, its huge eyes watched me, curiously.
“Well, y’two jis’ hit it off right away, din’t ya?”
I struggled to see from where the deep voice came. Slowly my world came into focus, and I realized I was on the floor. The large bell end of a tuba lay on one side of me, and a wide but happily tail-wagging golden retriever on the other side.
The large black man from the photo stood above.
“Black Zack?”
“That’s whad they’s calls me — sides udda things.”
“You’re in danger,” I told him, my words coming out weaker than I’d intended.
“She-it, boy! Don’t y’think, I knows’t?” He chuckled. “Why else I’d put that tuba upside y’head? Thought y’was one o’ ‘em.” He patted his dog. “Ol’ Ella Fitzgerald ‘ere know’d bettah, first. She come a’lickin’ on ya, an’ I r’lize m’mistake.” He gave a high-pitched, Walter Brennan-like laugh. “You’s fire-breathah on the countah, there.”
I sat slowly, rubbing the knot on the back of my head, and saw John Poppy’s Mach 10 where Zack had motioned.
I checked my pocket. “Where’s my cell phone?”
“Don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout no cell phone. I don’t bother with ‘em.”
Marie musta taken it.
“My wallet?”
“Nex’ to the fire-breathah.”
He turned away to raise several window blinds and turn on lights. Through the dust motes in the sunshine, the room full of shiny brass instruments came to life.
“Where’s Billy — Billy White Cloud? Is he okay?”
“Now that’s the six’y-fo’
“Oh, shit!” I said to myself. I’ve been drugged.
Chapter 9
Black Zack's Brassy Jazz
The front door of the horn shop was wide open, and large blow flies buzzed inside in the shaded, cooler air.
When I stepped in, my eyes took time to adjust — too long. I still felt the effects of some kind of hallucinogenic I’d been subjected to in either the orange dust at the Voodoo shop, or from the scratch on the back of my hand — or both. And I was pretty sure both had come from the same source, the mysterious woman in the yellow sundress, Marie Paris Dumesnil de Glapion.
I moved cautiously through the cluttered shop to the counter at the far wall. Billie Holiday sang “Strange Fruit” in the background from scratchy vinyl that didn’t do “Lady Day” justice. Still the music and lyrics about lynchings in the Old South were haunting.
A lone fan blew the stale but cooler air as it oscillated lazily. Figuring the proprietor or his help might be in a back room, I eased around the end of the counter toward a closed interior side door.
Still difficult to see through the clutter and shadows around me, I had an uneasy feeling about this place. Perhaps Lance Corporal Billy White Cloud was here. Perhaps I would find him tied up in the back. Perhaps I’d find him dead, stuffed into an old crate.
Bright yellow eyes suddenly appeared in the dark aisle before me, staring from a couple feet above the floor. It told me two things: I was still very much under the influence of some sort of mind-altering drug, and a malevolent force, that I was in no condition to fight, blocked me from going any farther. The thing gave a warning growl and stepped from the shadow. It was huge, wide as a horse and its coat was ablaze.
Suddenly it came at me, and when it opened its mouth, all I saw were huge teeth.
In the same instant a shout came from the open doorway, “El-lah!” something hard hit me on the back of the head.
With the clash of a gong, I passed out.
* * *
I awoke with something warm and wet rubbing across my mouth.
The thing staring me face-to-face was covered in golden brown fur, had long, floppy ears and a tongue that seemed to be at least three feet long. Between licks, its huge eyes watched me, curiously.
“Well, y’two jis’ hit it off right away, din’t ya?”
I struggled to see from where the deep voice came. Slowly my world came into focus, and I realized I was on the floor. The large bell end of a tuba lay on one side of me, and a wide but happily tail-wagging golden retriever on the other side.
The large black man from the photo stood above.
“Black Zack?”
“That’s whad they’s calls me — sides udda things.”
“You’re in danger,” I told him, my words coming out weaker than I’d intended.
“She-it, boy! Don’t y’think, I knows’t?” He chuckled. “Why else I’d put that tuba upside y’head? Thought y’was one o’ ‘em.” He patted his dog. “Ol’ Ella Fitzgerald ‘ere know’d bettah, first. She come a’lickin’ on ya, an’ I r’lize m’mistake.” He gave a high-pitched, Walter Brennan-like laugh. “You’s fire-breathah on the countah, there.”
I sat slowly, rubbing the knot on the back of my head, and saw John Poppy’s Mach 10 where Zack had motioned.
I checked my pocket. “Where’s my cell phone?”
“Don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout no cell phone. I don’t bother with ‘em.”
Marie musta taken it.
“My wallet?”
“Nex’ to the fire-breathah.”
He turned away to raise several window blinds and turn on lights. Through the dust motes in the sunshine, the room full of shiny brass instruments came to life.
“Where’s Billy — Billy White Cloud? Is he okay?”
“Now that’s the six’y-fo’
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