And De Fun Don't Done by Robert G. Barrett Read Free Book Online Page B

heat with half a hangover. Surrounded by a bunch of rednecks firing guns off in my ear. ‘Okay. Sounds good.’ Then Les just wanted to get away. Away from Hank, his guns, his fuzzy TV and his shit tequila. It was time to put on a bit of an act. He blinked a couple of times and started to sway on his feet. ‘Hey, mate,’ he said, slurring his words a little, ‘I might have to get to bed. I’m rooted. I think this jet lag’s just started to hit me.’
    â€˜That and one good shot of tequila.’
    â€˜Yeah, you could be right. You might have to finish that other one for me.’ Les blinked again. ‘Well, I’m gonna hit the sack. What time are we going shooting tomorrow?’
    â€˜I’ll come over and get you at ten.’
    â€˜Okay. I’ll see you then.’ Norton hesitated at the door. ‘Did you say there was a beach around here? I wouldn’t mind going for a swim tomorrow too.’
    â€˜We’ll go for a dive in the afternoon. After we’ve been shooting.’
    â€˜Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again.’ Hank didn’t reply; Les let himself out. Although it was still punishingly hot and steamy, it was a pleasure to be on his own again for a while and look up at some stars. Halfway back to the house Les stopped for a leak and a think while he gazed up at the cloud-scattered Florida sky.
    Norton was still thinking when he was lying back on his bed in the darkness, after he’d turned on the fan, switched off the light and stripped down to his jocks. Hitting Hank on the chin and breaking the know-all bastard’s jaw,pleasurable and all as it might be, was going to have to be put on hold. Although Hank was no doubt as weak as piss underneath, you could bet he’d put a bullet in Les if he did smack him one. Probably a whole clip. Then more than likely get away with it as self-defence; who knew what the gun laws were in America, especially Florida? But there was more to Hank than just the way the flip fattened up showing off his silly bloody gun collection. Laurel Lee was homicidal, suicidal and that far back in the doghouse you had to feed him with a catapult. He was dirty on the world; that was obvious when he mentioned the letters as they were driving here. He had no money, no girl, no job and you could bet the lemon had no friends either. But in his own peanut brain he was firmly convinced it was everybody else’s fault bar his. He was also convinced the world was conspiring against him. And at the same time, by his rude, abrupt attitude, he was also convinced he was doing the world and everybody else around him a favour just by being there. And those were just his good points. Christ! thought Les. What if Hank is a full-on, bell-ringing, yo yo? What say his mother doesn’t live here? What say she’s dead and he’s got her mummified in one of these rooms? Bloody hell! I’ve travelled halfway across the world to have a holiday with Norman Bates. Jesus! I’ll be watching the shower curtain when I have a tub in the morning. But Hank was a whole new ball game to Norton. Les had never come across anyone like him before, because back in Australia pricks that carried on like him got a whack in the mouth and a boot up the arse. And they kept getting it till they woke up. They did in the circle of friends Norton hung round with anyway. Les shook his head in the darkness. No, Hank was a loose cannon, and he was going to have to remove himself from the prick’s company very carefully. He’d still be able to sling off at the flip. Hank was just a mug who left himself open for the verbal riposte all the time, and Les wouldn’t be able to help himself there anyway, even if it was like bashing up the same drunk all the time. But belting the dill on the jaw was definitely outof the question. Then what about when he got back to Australia, and they asked him about his holiday, and Les told them he was