Read Online Shadow Falls: Badlands by Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff - Free Book Online Page B

from his desk and to Galen’s surprise, kept rising—until over two yards of him had gotten to his feet.
    Galen removed the wrapped package from the pocket of his duster and held it out. “Mr. Dunburton?” he asked. “I believe this is for you.”
    The banker stepped quickly to Galen, motioning for him to keep the package out of sight.
    “Please, please,” he said.
    “I don’t understand.” Galen replied. “My employer, Mr. Harrison, asked me to give this to you.”
    "And give it to me you shall,” Dunburton said in a hushed voice. “But not here.” He guided Galen’s that hand holding the box back to the pocket from which it had come.
    “Tonight, Mr.—”
    “Holt, Tom Holt,” Galen lied.
    Dunburton spoke as he led Galen to the front door, all the while looking back at the teller who was too busy counting coins to even take notice. “Tonight, Mr. Holt, if you could come by my house and join me for supper, I would be most obliged. This way we could finish our— transaction.”
    Dunburton gave him the address: 16 White Oak Lane, “a large colonial near the waterfront.” At seven o’clock that evening, Galen knocked on the door. A large Negro woman answered. Given the way the way she was dressed, Galen guessed her to be the servant.
    “Mr. Dunburton invited me for supper,” Galen told her.
    Wordlessly, the black maid invited him in and led him through the foyer to the study where the host waited. Along the walls were cases full of books, Old tomes that appeared to have left their shelves. The banker apparently had money. The house was well appointed in rich, dark furniture and fine brocade drapes.
    In a glass case near the fireplace sat what first appeared to be a brown turnip on a stand, but closer inspection yielded the truth.
    It was a shrunken head.
    “A colleague of mine brought that back from South America,” boomed Dunburton. His voice startled Galen, who hadn’t even noticed the host’s arrival.
    “Very... interesting,” said Galen, not quite sure what to make of the relic.
    “Savages, the lot of them,” Dunburton said. He gestured to a chair for Galen to sit.
    “Have we met before?” Dunburton cocked his head and inquired. “You have a certain air about you that seems familiar.”
    “Don’t reckon we have,” Galen responded, trying not to break eye contact as to be suspicious.
    “Well then, nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holt. I am Elias Dunburton, of the Virginia Dunburtons.” He offered Galen a drink.
    “Whiskey,” Galen said.
    “Bourbon, actually,” Dunburton explained as he poured one for himself. “Pure Kentucky bourbon. Have you ever been to our fair city before, Mr. Holt?”
    “My first time. And please, call me Tom.”
    Dunburton sipped his drink, savoring it. “So, Tom,” he said, “did you bring along that package?”
    Galen reached into his duster and pulled out the box, again feeling the unsettling sensation of something sliding within. He held the box out, feeling relief the moment Dunburton took it from his fingers.
    “Now let us look inside, shall we?” Dunburton said. Galen thought that was the last thing he wanted.
    With a sharp knife taken from his desk drawer, Dunburton cut the twine and eagerly unwrapped the brown paper.
    Inside was a small box carved from a wood that was nearly all black. Dunburton gasped with delight. He ran his fingers over the engravings on the outside of the box, the detail of which Galen could not make out because he dared not get any closer than a few feet. Dunburton carried the box to a side table and stood with his back to Galen. With a soft click, Galen heard the ornate wooden box open, a slight squeal to its hinges. Dunburton clasped his hands —a single clap—before closing the box and stowing it inside a locked drawer.
    With a wide grin on his face, he looked up at Galen.
    “Now what say we have us some supper?”
    The dining room held a table big enough for ten—but tonight it sat only two. Perched at the head