Read Online Name of the Devil by Andrew Mayne - Free Book Online Page A

how old—he’s got deep blue eyes. White-blond hair sits on his head like a bad toupee. His feet are bare.
    â€œI wouldn’t call myself that,” I reply, more calmly than I feel.
    Black Nick steps out of the trees and takes a seat on a rock by the fire across from me. “Dancing up in trees in the middle of da storm, pitch black night, if that ain’t a witch, I dunno what is.” He stirs the coals with a stick.
    â€œYou saw me in the tree?”
    â€œI didn’ say I did. I just said whats you were doin’ last night. Yo business is yo business.”
    His accent isn’t West Virginian, but it’s not quite Southern, either. It’s a mishmash of pronunciations I can’t quite place—maybe with a hint of Minnesotan Swede.
    He gives me a close look in the firelight. “You ain’t no witch. Just a fool.”
    â€œI’m an FBI agent.”
    â€œSame thing. I see why people think you a witch. You got a mysterious way about you. Coming up here in the night. Things out here. Dark things.” He’s reproachful, but not menacing.
    â€œI came to talk to you about that. Has anyone asked you about what happened at the church?”
    â€œLotsa people. Coming here to ask Black Nick for some help. Wantin’ totems to ward off the wickedness. Ignore me forever. Call me names behinds my back. But when the evil come, then they all want Black Nick.”
    â€œHas anybody like me come to talk to you?”
    He stabs the stick into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. “Fools aplenty.”
    â€œI mean a law enforcement officer, a cop. Has anyone asked you for a statement?”
    He draws a circle in the ashes with his poker. “What would I state? You seen what happened. Not much else to tell.”
    â€œWhat did happen?” I hope that, even up here, he may have heard something we didn’t.
    â€œDidn’t you see nothing with all your tree climbing? Something evil happened.”
    â€œYes, but because of whom?”
    He scratches the rough skin of his chin. “The whom is da Sheriff Jessup. I suppose you know that already.”
    There’s a way he emphasizes ‘whom.’ “Is there someone else involved?” I ask.
    He stirs the flames again. “Supposing you knock this stick from my hand into the fire? My hand done let go of the stick. But it’s yo hand that done the knocking.”
    â€œIs there someone else involved?”
    â€œSupposing.”
    â€œCan I ask you if you know something about this?” I reach for my phone to show him the photo of Bear McKnight’s chest.
    He raises a hand. “Don’t show me that. Might as well call him over to supper. I know who you’re talking about.”
    â€œIs that who’s behind this?”
    â€œThat troublemaker has been to these parts before. The Indian-folk had their own name for him. And the folk before them, and before them. He’s playing his tricks, as expected.”
    Tricks. It’s a weird word for evil. Oddly, that’s how many cultures see the devil: as a trickster.
    â€œWhat else has he done?”
    His blue eyes stare into mine. “You read your Bible? Plenty. Ask old Abraham.”
    â€œSo you think he’s the cause of what happened?”
    â€œI didn’t say that. I say he’s involved. But if you let the dooropen for him to step inside, your fault for leavins the door open.”
    â€œThe door?”
    â€œHe don’t just show up unannounced. Someone brought him here,” he replies matter-of-fact.
    This drunk Yoda act is getting on my nerves. “The sheriff? Did he open the door?”
    â€œWhy’d he do a fool thing like that?” Nick’s blue eyes flash at me like this is the dumbest question in the world.
    â€œMaybe he’s crazy?”
    â€œIf’n he’s crazy, he don’t need the troublemaker’s help. Crazy people do awful things all the time. The