Read Online Way Down on the High Lonely by Don Winslow - Free Book Online Page A

Ouch.
    “What the hell happened to you?”
    “I’m not sure I know.”
    The man chuckled. “You didn’t by chance enter the bareback event at the Filly Ranch, did you?”
    “I guess I got thrown.”
    “Well, you wouldn’t be the first. Come on.”
    The man gently held him under the arms and lifted him to his feet. Neal’s feet didn’t really want the responsibility.
    The man picked Neal’s wallet up from the ground and looked inside. “You won’t have to worry about managing your money anymore.”
    “Shit.”
    “Although, judging by your vehicle, it doesn’t look like it was ever a very big concern for you.”
    Neal steadied himself on the old Nova and looked around. He could have been on the moon except the moon wasn’t this flat. There was nothing but desert around.
    What the hell am I doing out here? he asked himself. Oh yeah, Cody McCall.
    “I think I can drive,” he said to the man, who was just sort of standing there staring at him.
    The man laughed. “Where do you want to go?”
    “Nowhere, really.”
    “Well, that’s about where you’ll get in this car. I’ve never seen a car that’s been shot before. Somebody must’ve taken a real dislike to you.”
    “I can have that effect on people,” Neal said.
    “I hadn’t noticed,” said the man. He stuck his hand out. “I’m Steve Mills. I have a ranch out by Austin. Or it has me.”
    A ranch out by Austin, Neal thought. It has a ring to it. “My name’s Neal Carey.”
    “Come on over to the truck. I have a first-aid kit.”
    Mills led Neal over to an old Chevy pickup, opened the passenger door, and sat Neal down. Then he got his kit, expertly cleaned the wound on Neal’s head, swabbed some antiseptic on it, and applied a bandage.
    “I’m a regular Sue Barton, student nurse,” he said. “Out where we live, you have to be a little bit of everything—medic, mechanic, cook, farmer, cowboy, and sometime psychiatrist. You’re from back East, aren’t you?”
    Neal focused his eyes and took a good look at the man for the first time. He was in the tall range, real thin, with that slight stoop at the shoulders that tall men get from having to duck under things. He wore a blue checkered shirt rolled up at the sleeves, with a pack of cigarettes peeking out of the breast pocket. He had on jeans over his cowboy boots, which were old, tan, and worn.
    He had a handsome face that had weathered more than its share of cold, harsh winds, and baking sun. It was deeply tanned up to the telltale line on the forehead that betrayed a habitual ball cap. His brown hair was still thick at about forty-five years of age, and his dark brown eyes shone with life. It was a face you liked right away, a face with nothing to hide.
    “I’m from New York,” Neal said.
    “City or state?”
    “City.”
    Steve Mills scratched his cheek. “I’d have thought you could have gotten yourself mugged there. What brings you out this way?”
    I’m looking for a man who works on a ranch out by Austin. “I like to travel,” Neal said.
    “Well, you don’t have to tell me,” Steve said.
    Good.
    “Well, Neal Carey, mystery man, why don’t I throw what’s left of your personal possessions in the back of the truck and take you to Austin with me? If your destination is nowhere, Austin is at least close. There’s a bus that comes through every couple of days.”
    Neal reflected on his options and quickly arrived at the conclusion that he didn’t have any.
    “This is very generous of you,” he said.
    Steve was already tossing Neal’s duffel bag into the truck.
    “I’m going there anyway. Wouldn’t mind some company for the ride.”
    “Hold on a second,” Neal said. He straightened himself up, tottered over to the Nova, and opened up the trunk. He tore the fabric off the inside of the trunk hood, reached in, and pulled out a stack of bills, the last five hundred dollars of his expense money.
    “You may not be as dumb as I thought,” Steve observed.
    “Don’t get