Butcher's Road by Lee Thomas Read Free Book Online

How are you? It’s been too long.”
    “This isn’t exactly a social call, Hollis.”
    Typical of Rory to get right to the point. He didn’t bother with subtlety and he didn’t need to. Rossington generally found his friend’s directness refreshing after all of the silk-over-horseshit conversations in which he found himself. “Is something wrong? Is Molly okay?”
    The line between them was scratchy. Mysterious pops and crackles punctuated Rory’s words. “Fine, Hollis. Fine. I’m calling you about something else.”
    Rossington listened through the static as Rory told him about a friend who was in trouble. Because of the poor connection he had a difficult time making out the exact nature of the problem: something to do with the obs ?
    “Hold on, Rory,” he said. “What are obs?”
    “Mobs. Mobs, ” the Irishman shouted, “He’s in trouble with the mobs, but he’s a good guy, just a little naïve.”
    “A young kid?”
    “No,” Sullivan said, “not young. Just kind of ignorant to the depths of shit he’s stepped in.”
    “Okay,” Rossington said, also shouting. “What can I do?”
    “I sent him your way, Hollis. I need you to put him up until he gets his balance back.”
    Rossington would have said yes to nearly any request the man made of him. Giving a beleaguered gentleman a bed and a roof was a paltry request—or should have been—but there were things Rory didn’t know about Rossington’s current situation, things (like Lionel) he didn’t need to know. Still, could he say no? He didn’t see how.
    “It’s a lot to ask,” Sullivan said. “This guy is in deep with some nasty people. Sounds like he’s got both sides of hell closing in on him. It could—”
    “I didn’t catch that last bit.”
    “Dangerous,” Sullivan said. “It could be very dangerous to have him in your house.”
    “Who is this guy?”
    It took three tries before Sullivan’s voice came through clear enough for Rossington to catch the name: Butch Cardinal. Rossington smiled. Had he heard that correctly? He remembered Cardinal, had even seen one of his bouts in Kansas City. Good-looking kid, as he remembered it. Even for a wrestler he was big, and not the kind of big that came from padding his physique with fat: pure muscle, that one. On top of that, he was one hell of a wrestler. He’d pinned Joe Means in less than thirty minutes and had hardly broken a sweat.
    Rossington had to admit he liked the idea of connecting with someone from the ring. He’d left the mats himself a decade ago, and except for taking in the occasional bout, and his ongoing friendship with his dear friend Rory Sullivan, he’d completely severed himself from the sport. It would be nice to have another wrestler in the house, if only to swap war stories over whiskey and cigars. But athletes, too many of them, had rather limited tolerances; the ones he’d met had proved to be less than accepting of uncommon emotional perspectives.
    How would he explain Lionel’s presence? The place wasn’t nearly large enough to pull off some screwball cinematic subterfuge. He could always ask Lionel to find alternate lodgings for a time. Lionel had been a popular visitor, if not exactly a houseguest, for a number of Hollis’s acquaintances. Certain transactions of skin and spit were invariably negotiated in those instances, which made Hollis all but immediately discount the idea. Still he didn’t mind the idea of Lionel being gone for a time. Frankly, Hollis could use the break.
    More and more, the kid’s presence grated on his nerves. Some time apart might be just the thing they needed. But Lionel wouldn’t be easy to relocate. Any way he looked at the situation it came out awkward.
    “He may not be comfortable here,” Rossington said, finally. “I can get him set up in one of the hotels in the Quarter and keep an eye on him if that helps.”
    “He’s tapped out, Hollis. He needs to lay low and he needs to do it on the cheap.”
    “Okay,” he