Read Online Server Down by J.M. Hayes - Free Book Online

but the professional was supposed to make certain Mad Dog appeared to be the killer. That meant knowing enough to understand how the would-be Cheyenne was likely to behave. The professional had heard about Mad Dog’s annual vision quests in the park across from the Benteen County courthouse. He only needed black and white paint to mimic Mad Dog’s preferred design.
    When the professional needed last minute supplies, he liked to shop at Wal-Mart. They carried everything, even body paint, or what could be used for the purpose, if you knew where to look. And it didn’t matter that they weren’t open when he made his shopping runs. Wal-Marts were the same everywhere, including their security arrangements. He went in, fast and quiet and easy, and took what he needed.
    The house he was looking for was in the Menlo Park area. Tucson had big plans for downtown renovation and downtown was just east, across the freeway. The neighborhood seemed to be upgrading. Not that some of the houses hadn’t already been desirable. This target lived in one of those—a single-story brick with an odd configuration that must have seemed ultra-modern when it was built shortly after World War II.
    He began with a drive-by surveillance. The iron fence with its spear-like tips could be a problem. So could the fact that it appeared the homeowner was up and about. A light went on in a window as he cruised past. She was at home, at least. He wouldn’t have to go hunting for her.
    He left his car a couple of blocks away, near the foot of a small volcanic peak on which the mandatory letter “A” was outlined. Tucson was, after all, home to the University of Arizona.
    He stripped down and applied the paint. Black everywhere, but for bright and jagged lightning bolts on his arms and legs and cheeks. Mad Dog wore homemade breechcloths these days, but he’d been known to make do with Speedos when he first got started. The professional thought black briefs would do. And then there was the final touch. The hatchet he’d liberated from Wal-Mart’s hardware department. Eventually, an inventory would show the Tucson store was missing some merchandise. But they’d never know he’d broken in. Shoplifters, or disloyal employees, would get the blame.
    Wal-Mart had shoes for every purpose. Most of his purposes required good traction and low visibility, especially at night. Matching the black body paint wasn’t a problem.
    The light he’d seen was out by the time he got back to the house. Another was on in a different room. He could see a shadow moving around in there. He thought she might be up and getting ready to leave. He used the limb of a shade tree to go over the spiked metal wall and made short work of the locks on the back door. Having no pockets, he put the picks in his mouth and reviewed his preparations.
    He didn’t have a headband or a feather. Too little time to find and redesign a headdress from the toy department, and it wasn’t something his victim was likely to notice.
    He hadn’t shaved his head, either. A black swim cap would do nicely. As he slipped through the back door he had to laugh silently at the idea. Shaving his head—that would be overkill.
    ***
    Minstrel show?” Mad Dog said. “Oh, this isn’t blackface. I’m Cheyenne and I’m painted because it helps me focus when I’m trying to contact the spirit world.”
    One of the men laughed. “We got our own contact with the spirit world right here.” He drained a tall can and crushed it in his hand.
    â€œCheyenne, huh?” another said. His voice wasn’t hostile, just curious. “I’m Cherokee.”
    â€œAnd I’m fucking Apache,” said the one who’d accused Mad Dog of going to a minstrel show.
    â€œNo, really,” the Cherokee said. “On my momma’s side. She was a half-breed.”
    â€œMe too,” Mad Dog said. “My mother always claimed