Read Online Last Call by Sean Costello - Free Book Online Page B

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    “Bob,” said the fat fuck, like they were old pals, “what’ve you got for me today?”
    Stretching his face into what passed for a smile, Bobcat said, “Hank, my boy, I got some real beauties for you.” He saw the man staring at his teeth, a grimace on his doughboy face, and slid his lips shut. “Yep, some real beauties.”
    Bobcat stood across from the man at the display counter now and made a show of removing the cloth from a red-felt jewelry box that had belonged to his mother. He centered it on the glass countertop and pried it open, turning it to face Hank.
    “Oh, my,” Hank said, seating a jeweler’s loupe over one eye as he leaned in for a closer look. “You, sir, are an amazing craftsman. The detail in these is spectacular. Better than the last batch if you ask me.”
    Bobcat thought, Yeah, well, nobody asked you .
    Hank said, “Are you ever gonna tell me what they’re made of?”
    “Trade secret, Hank.”
    “And you’re sure it’s not ivory.”
    “That’d be illegal. You want ’em or not?”
    Hank let the loupe drop into his palm and straightened, giving Bobcat a wary smile. “Sure I do, Bob. ’Course I do.” He pulled out a small gray cashbox and keyed it open. “The usual price?”
    Bobcat nodded, pocketed the cash and left without another word. It was a beautiful day in cottage country. A perfect day for hunting.
    * * *
    But the day turned out to be a disappointment. Nothing but skanks and fatties at his regular spots, and there seemed to be more than the usual scattering of O.P.P. cruisers buzzing the two-lane today. Probably looking for me , Bobcat thought, oddly pleased by the notion. Like they’re ever gonna find me.
    Sammy was on his lap now, and he patted the little guy’s head, saying, “Well, Sambo, shall we call it a day? Head back to the ranch and boil up some dogs?” The terrier regarded him with worried eyes, his stubby tail no longer wagging, and Bobcat said, “ Hot dogs, little buddy. Boar’s Head franks, your favorite. I’d never eat you. Hardly enough meat on them bones to make a meal any—”
    There was movement up ahead now and Bobcat tensed, Sammy scooting across the bench seat to stand on his hind legs, front paws propped on the dashboard, sharing his master’s view.
    Accelerating, Bobcat saw two young women standing on the shoulder of the oncoming lane with their thumbs out, heavy-looking backpacks at their feet. They weren’t wearing much—tank tops, skin-tight cutoffs, hiking boots—and Bobcat said, “Well, kiss my ass, Sammy boy, there is a god. And ain’t he a prick?”
    He drove past the girls with his window shut and his gaze aimed straight ahead, paying them no heed. When they were out of sight behind him, he slowed in preparation for a U-turn—and now a souped-up Duster appeared in the oncoming lane, occupied by two teenage boys.
    Bobcat said, “Shit,” and braked, pulling a U-ie the instant the muscle car passed, saying, “No way, Sammy. No way those dinks are gettin’ them toads.”
    Within seconds he was riding the Duster’s tail, and now he tramped on the go pedal and passed them at speed, the kid leaning on the horn back there and flipping him the bird.
    The girls were just a few yards ahead now, watching with their mouths open, and Bobcat hit the brakes, the Duster roaring past as he drifted onto the shoulder. The passenger in the car shouted something obscene and pitched a beer bottle out the window, then they were around the next bend and gone.
    Without showing his teeth, Bobcat grinned at the startled girls and opened the passenger door, Sammy there to greet them with his tail going a mile a minute. One of them was blonde, the other brunette. They were not smiling, and neither made a move to get in.
    “Evenin’, ladies,” Bobcat said, and the brunette said, “What was that all about?” He gave the girls a good-natured shrug and scratched the dog’s neck, making its tail go even faster. He said, “Kids. You know.