Read Online The Big Finish by James W. Hall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James W. Hall
Ads: Link
intemperate indulgers, the gulpers. Put the fear of god into them. A method so quick and outrageous, some didn’t even put up a fight.
X-88 hadn’t thought to bring a shovel.
He dragged her body fifty yards through lashing branches and spiderwebs, so far into the forest he could barely make out the parking lights.
He laid her out flat. Looked at her body for a moment. He spoke her name, Tina Gathercole, like a last rite, then he turned and left her remains behind.
Fresh meat. An offering to that sick old bear waiting in the shadows.
SEVEN
JUST AFTER EIGHT, CRUZ TOLD Sugar to take the next exit, look for a motel, Holiday Inn, Hampton, one of those.
“We’re driving straight through,” Thorn said. “Sugar’s on a schedule.”
She turned, flashed a hard smile and said, “Pine Haven is not a town you want to arrive in the dark.”
Sugar said, “I’ll stop, but you level with us or we’re ditching you here.”
“It’s very simple. To locate Thorn’s son, you’re going to need my help. You barge into this without knowing the cast of characters, chances are very good Flynn’s a dead man.”
Thorn and Sugar shared a quick look. Neither trusted her, but damn it, this wasn’t a risk they could take.
Along motel row, Cruz pointed them to a Best Western. A Waffle House on one side, burger joint on the other.
They carried their bags inside, Cruz handling the duffel. She set it in her room, unlocked the door on her side. Sugar did the same and swung it open.
Thorn stood in the center of the motel room, eyeing the anonymous furniture with a nagging sense of dread. A hard pressure was growing in his chest, and the atmosphere seemed to have thickened as it does just before a thunderstorm, a density and weight to the air that registered against the skin as lightly but as surely as the first brush of a bull shark.
He sat on the foot of the bed, absently ran a hand across the bedspread, its surface tacky from the fluids of the strangers streaming through the room. There was an undertone of mildew.
“Listen, guys, I’m starving,” she said. “Would you mind, Sugar?” Cruz motioned through the open drapes at the burger joint glowing in the night across the parking lot. “I’ll lay out the details over dinner.”
“You keep stalling.”
“Over dinner,” she said.
Sugar shrugged, took their orders, and on his way out the door he shot Thorn a warning look. Don’t try some harebrained stunt while I’m gone .
When the door shut, Cruz went to her room and returned with a laptop computer, set it on the desk by the front door, and switched it on. She got on the Internet, typed in an address, and stepped back.
Thorn rose from the bed. He didn’t believe in premonitions, but the burn prickling across his shoulders was impossible to ignore.
Through the window he watched Sugar trudge across the parking lot, head down, shoulders slumped, reduced to an errand boy.
Cruz turned the laptop around. Motioned for Thorn to sit. He moved over, lowered himself into the chair. The chills still jingling across his back.
“This is a Web site,” she said, “the press office section for ELF. I believe you’re familiar with the ELF.”
“I am.”
“Use the down arrow to scroll.”
At the top of the page there was an image of a man in a black ski mask cradling a young goat against his chest. Below him were a series of mug shots with a paragraph posted next to each face.
“What’s this have to do with anything?”
She nudged the laptop closer to him.
The page’s headline: “Snitches and Informers.”
“The people in these photos were activists busted by the FBI or another branch of law enforcement. Once in custody they saw the light and flipped, took a plea deal, cooperated, wore a wire, testified in court, things of that nature, and for their cooperation they either got a reduced sentence or immunity. And their faces wound up on this Web site.”
“Why’re you showing me this?”
“Scroll
X-88 hadn’t thought to bring a shovel.
He dragged her body fifty yards through lashing branches and spiderwebs, so far into the forest he could barely make out the parking lights.
He laid her out flat. Looked at her body for a moment. He spoke her name, Tina Gathercole, like a last rite, then he turned and left her remains behind.
Fresh meat. An offering to that sick old bear waiting in the shadows.
SEVEN
JUST AFTER EIGHT, CRUZ TOLD Sugar to take the next exit, look for a motel, Holiday Inn, Hampton, one of those.
“We’re driving straight through,” Thorn said. “Sugar’s on a schedule.”
She turned, flashed a hard smile and said, “Pine Haven is not a town you want to arrive in the dark.”
Sugar said, “I’ll stop, but you level with us or we’re ditching you here.”
“It’s very simple. To locate Thorn’s son, you’re going to need my help. You barge into this without knowing the cast of characters, chances are very good Flynn’s a dead man.”
Thorn and Sugar shared a quick look. Neither trusted her, but damn it, this wasn’t a risk they could take.
Along motel row, Cruz pointed them to a Best Western. A Waffle House on one side, burger joint on the other.
They carried their bags inside, Cruz handling the duffel. She set it in her room, unlocked the door on her side. Sugar did the same and swung it open.
Thorn stood in the center of the motel room, eyeing the anonymous furniture with a nagging sense of dread. A hard pressure was growing in his chest, and the atmosphere seemed to have thickened as it does just before a thunderstorm, a density and weight to the air that registered against the skin as lightly but as surely as the first brush of a bull shark.
He sat on the foot of the bed, absently ran a hand across the bedspread, its surface tacky from the fluids of the strangers streaming through the room. There was an undertone of mildew.
“Listen, guys, I’m starving,” she said. “Would you mind, Sugar?” Cruz motioned through the open drapes at the burger joint glowing in the night across the parking lot. “I’ll lay out the details over dinner.”
“You keep stalling.”
“Over dinner,” she said.
Sugar shrugged, took their orders, and on his way out the door he shot Thorn a warning look. Don’t try some harebrained stunt while I’m gone .
When the door shut, Cruz went to her room and returned with a laptop computer, set it on the desk by the front door, and switched it on. She got on the Internet, typed in an address, and stepped back.
Thorn rose from the bed. He didn’t believe in premonitions, but the burn prickling across his shoulders was impossible to ignore.
Through the window he watched Sugar trudge across the parking lot, head down, shoulders slumped, reduced to an errand boy.
Cruz turned the laptop around. Motioned for Thorn to sit. He moved over, lowered himself into the chair. The chills still jingling across his back.
“This is a Web site,” she said, “the press office section for ELF. I believe you’re familiar with the ELF.”
“I am.”
“Use the down arrow to scroll.”
At the top of the page there was an image of a man in a black ski mask cradling a young goat against his chest. Below him were a series of mug shots with a paragraph posted next to each face.
“What’s this have to do with anything?”
She nudged the laptop closer to him.
The page’s headline: “Snitches and Informers.”
“The people in these photos were activists busted by the FBI or another branch of law enforcement. Once in custody they saw the light and flipped, took a plea deal, cooperated, wore a wire, testified in court, things of that nature, and for their cooperation they either got a reduced sentence or immunity. And their faces wound up on this Web site.”
“Why’re you showing me this?”
“Scroll
Similar Books
