Read Online Spencerville by Nelson DeMille - Free Book Online Page A

she told him to roll up the file, put a coat of grease on it, and shove it up his ass. Cliff had been more than pissed off, he’d been almost homicidal. If people weren’t afraid, how was he going to keep them in line? This was a little scary.
    The part of him that was wolf sensed danger before any other animal in his woods had an inkling of it. In the last few years, he’d noticed these new people sort of circling around, sizing him up like he was fair game instead of the other way around.
    Then there was Annie. Little lady perfect who usually wouldn’t say shit if she had a mouth full of it. Then all of a sudden, she gets the idea of checking up on him, then comes that close to blowing his head off. “What the hell’s goin’ on around here?”
    He’d been working on these problems when this new thing came along. “Goddamnit! People after my ass, people after my job, and now my own wife tries to kill me, and some guy who used to fuck her shows up. Hey, God, what’d I do to deserve this shit?”
    He wondered if Annie knew yet that her old boyfriend was back in town. Maybe that’s why she tried to kill him. But that didn’t make sense. She’d go to jail before she could fuck him. No, she didn’t know yet, but she would, and he’d watch for it. It did occur to him that maybe she had no interest in Keith Landry, and he had no interest in her. Still, he didn’t want this stiff cock around town.
    He realized he couldn’t watch both of them forever, but he’d watch for a while, and maybe catch them. If not, Landry was still going to get fucked, but not by Mrs. Baxter.
    Cliff was a pro at lovers’ lane busts, and in the old days, before kids started screwing in the houses of working parents or in motels out of the county, he’d grabbed a few every weekend in cars or abandoned barns. He had a sixth sense for knowing where they were and catching them naked or at least half-naked. This was the part of his tough job that he enjoyed, and if he thought about it, a night like that always ended with him going to one of his ladies’ houses with big Johnson trying to bust out of his zipper. Sometimes he took Johnson home, and a couple of times Annie would comment that he must have been cruising lovers’ lane. “Yeah, she’s got a smart mouth.” Too damned smart for her own good.
    All this thinking about sex was getting him cranked up.
    Cliff Baxter turned back toward town and drove into the south end, the part of town that was literally on the wrong side of the tracks. He called headquarters and said to Blake, “Takin’ an hour. Beep if you need me. In fact, beep in an hour so I can get onta where I’m gonna be.”
    “Right, Chief.”
    Baxter pulled into the cracked concrete driveway of a wooden bungalow and used an electronic opener to raise the garage door. He parked the police cruiser inside the garage, got out, and hit the button to close the door.
    He went to the back door and opened it with a key. The kitchen was small, dirty, and always smelled like bad plumbing. Annie, at least, for all her other faults, knew how to keep a house.
    He took a look into the untidy living room, then walked into the first of two bedrooms. A woman in her mid-thirties lay sleeping on her side on top of the bed sheets, wearing only a T-shirt. The room was warm, and a window fan stirred the hot air. Her white waitress uniform and underwear were thrown on the floor.
    Baxter walked up to the bed. The T-shirt had ridden up to her hips, and Cliff stared at her pubic hair, then regarded her big breasts and the nipples pointing through the pink T-shirt. The shirt said, “Park ’n’ Eat—Softball Team.”
    She had a good body, good muscle tone, and good skin if you overlooked a few zits and mosquito bites. The short hair falling over her face was blond, but the hair on her crotch was black.
    The woman stirred and turned on her stomach. Cliff looked at her rounded rump and felt himself getting hard. He reached out and squeezed a handful