Read Online The Last Quarry by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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forward, and worked hard at softening her expression. “Rick—we’re over. You must know that. Can’t you see? Let’s just walk away friends.”
Suddenly he was out of the booth and reaching for her, dragging her out of her seat. He said something I didn’t quite catch, but along the lines of: “We’re gonna talk this out, now .”
Then he took her roughly by the arm and hauled her through the bar, toward the door. She was protesting, and I didn’t have to read her lips to catch what she said—hell, everybody in the place caught what she said: “ Rick! Please! No...no.... ”
Half the eyes in Sneaky Pete’s were on the unhappy couple; the other half were making a point of not looking, ignoring what I gathered was a familiar scene around town.
The good-looking brunette bartender was bringing me my third beer. She looked toward the door, andsaid, “Pity. Hope he doesn’t hurt that poor kid, again.”
I said, “Isn’t anybody going to do anything about it?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You see anybody doing anything about it?”
I threw a five-spot on the counter and said, “Drink that last one yourself.”
“Anything you say, Daddy...”
When I was exiting onto the parking lot, half a dozen tobacco addicts were coming back in hurriedly, pitching their smokes sparking into the night. They apparently had no desire to be witnesses to what Rick might do to Janet.
Those two were the only ones in the lot, besides myself, and Rick had her cornered against a big blue Navigator, his hand against the metal, her face turned away from his, eyes shut tight.
“Two people,” he shouted at her, “who love each other oughta be able to talk to each other! God! Fuck!”
He used his keys to click open the vehicle’s door and shoved Janet in the front seat, rider’s side. He was about to shut her in when I put a hand on his shoulder.
Rick whirled, and took a few seconds to size me up—I’m not small, but to him I must have looked no threat, just some ancient asshole sticking his nose in.
He brushed my hand off his shoulder. “Go away. Not your business, dude.”
I punched him in the throat.
Rick went down on his knees, clutching his neck, trying to breathe, not having much success, gurgling, his face scarlet, his eyes popping.
From the nearby rider’s seat of the SUV, door still open, Janet Wright was taking this in with huge eyes...though not as huge as Rick’s.
“Excuse me,” I told her, and I took Rick by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him like the sack of garbage he was across the asphalt. Hauled him through some brush and into the surrounding trees. Deposited him in a small clearing.
Finally able to breathe again, Rick had not, however, found his way up off the ground.
Hurt in more ways than one, he managed to squeak, “You...you coulda killed me!”
“No,” I said. “Next time I’ll kill you.”
“What the fuck...fuck business is it...of—”
I bitch-slapped the prick.
The sound surprised me—it was as loud in the night as a gunshot, and the woman in the SUV probably heard it, too. I hoped to hell she wasn’t like some abused women, her next move running off and getting her poor abuser some help.
Rick was down on his knees, as if praying. If he really was praying, he was keeping it inside his head,because the “dude” wasn’t saying anything—just whimpering.
I knelt before him and I locked my eyes onto his face, though his eyes tried to escape.
“Do you believe I’ll kill you?” I asked him.
“Yeah...yeah...sure.”
But I wasn’t convinced he was convinced.
I took the nine millimeter from my jacket pocket.
He drew in a breath, eyes and nostrils flared.
“Open wide,” I said.
“Fuck you!” he said.
The epithet gave me the opening I needed, and I inserted the nine’s snout.
I asked him again: “Do you believe I’ll kill you?”
Rick, all but deep-throating the barrel, nodded, his eyes white all around, something like “yes, yes” emerging
Suddenly he was out of the booth and reaching for her, dragging her out of her seat. He said something I didn’t quite catch, but along the lines of: “We’re gonna talk this out, now .”
Then he took her roughly by the arm and hauled her through the bar, toward the door. She was protesting, and I didn’t have to read her lips to catch what she said—hell, everybody in the place caught what she said: “ Rick! Please! No...no.... ”
Half the eyes in Sneaky Pete’s were on the unhappy couple; the other half were making a point of not looking, ignoring what I gathered was a familiar scene around town.
The good-looking brunette bartender was bringing me my third beer. She looked toward the door, andsaid, “Pity. Hope he doesn’t hurt that poor kid, again.”
I said, “Isn’t anybody going to do anything about it?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You see anybody doing anything about it?”
I threw a five-spot on the counter and said, “Drink that last one yourself.”
“Anything you say, Daddy...”
When I was exiting onto the parking lot, half a dozen tobacco addicts were coming back in hurriedly, pitching their smokes sparking into the night. They apparently had no desire to be witnesses to what Rick might do to Janet.
Those two were the only ones in the lot, besides myself, and Rick had her cornered against a big blue Navigator, his hand against the metal, her face turned away from his, eyes shut tight.
“Two people,” he shouted at her, “who love each other oughta be able to talk to each other! God! Fuck!”
He used his keys to click open the vehicle’s door and shoved Janet in the front seat, rider’s side. He was about to shut her in when I put a hand on his shoulder.
Rick whirled, and took a few seconds to size me up—I’m not small, but to him I must have looked no threat, just some ancient asshole sticking his nose in.
He brushed my hand off his shoulder. “Go away. Not your business, dude.”
I punched him in the throat.
Rick went down on his knees, clutching his neck, trying to breathe, not having much success, gurgling, his face scarlet, his eyes popping.
From the nearby rider’s seat of the SUV, door still open, Janet Wright was taking this in with huge eyes...though not as huge as Rick’s.
“Excuse me,” I told her, and I took Rick by the collar of his leather jacket and dragged him like the sack of garbage he was across the asphalt. Hauled him through some brush and into the surrounding trees. Deposited him in a small clearing.
Finally able to breathe again, Rick had not, however, found his way up off the ground.
Hurt in more ways than one, he managed to squeak, “You...you coulda killed me!”
“No,” I said. “Next time I’ll kill you.”
“What the fuck...fuck business is it...of—”
I bitch-slapped the prick.
The sound surprised me—it was as loud in the night as a gunshot, and the woman in the SUV probably heard it, too. I hoped to hell she wasn’t like some abused women, her next move running off and getting her poor abuser some help.
Rick was down on his knees, as if praying. If he really was praying, he was keeping it inside his head,because the “dude” wasn’t saying anything—just whimpering.
I knelt before him and I locked my eyes onto his face, though his eyes tried to escape.
“Do you believe I’ll kill you?” I asked him.
“Yeah...yeah...sure.”
But I wasn’t convinced he was convinced.
I took the nine millimeter from my jacket pocket.
He drew in a breath, eyes and nostrils flared.
“Open wide,” I said.
“Fuck you!” he said.
The epithet gave me the opening I needed, and I inserted the nine’s snout.
I asked him again: “Do you believe I’ll kill you?”
Rick, all but deep-throating the barrel, nodded, his eyes white all around, something like “yes, yes” emerging
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