Comeback (Gun Pedersen Book 1) by L. L. Enger Read Free Book Online

toward the gate, he took from his trouser pocket a receipt for two hundred-pound bags of cement he’d purchased from Darwin’s Lumber in Stony. He folded the receipt twice.
    “Hello,” said Gun.
    “You call ahead?” asked the guard.
    “No reservation, sorry.”
    “Then I guess you’re out of luck. Hedman doesn’t have time for walk-ins.”
    “Fine, I’ll just give you a note for him.” Gun moved up to the iron gate, reached his hand through the bars and offered the folded receipt. “Make sure he gets it,” he said.
    The guard’s fingers touched the receipt, and quick as a northern pike slamming a spoon, Gun seized the man’s wrist, yanked him off his feet, and pulled him hard against the bars. The man’s head knocked the iron like a block of wood. Gun let go of the wrist, took a handful of hair, and maintaining a steady pull on the guy’s head, he reached between the bars with his free hand. He unsnapped the holster strap, palmed the gun, and let the man go.
    The guard fell backward on his rear end, cradling the top of his head in his elbows. His eyes were clamped shut and he cursed in violent whispers, like a young boy trying valiantly not to cry.
    “Open the gate,” Gun said.
    Rubbing his crown with one hand, the guard shoved himself up to his knees. He sorted through the big circle of keys hanging from his belt and opened the lock.
    Gun swung the gate open wide. “Now,” he said, “if you want to look like a monkey in front of your boss,
    you can come with me. If not, start running toward Stony. It’s that way.” He pointed.
    The orange-suited guard glanced up briefly at Gun, then rose unsteadily to his feet and began trotting toward the road.
    “I said running,” Gun called out, and the guard picked up his pace.
    The winding drive cut through a forest of mature white aspen, then up a steep hill onto a small field of grass and wild daisies. Finally it tunneled straight into the deep shade of a thick pine woods before breaking through into a clearing of manicured lawn. Once more Gun saw the huge lodge, its thatched roof twitching in the strong breeze like the stiff hair on a dog’s back. Beyond it was Stony Lake, choppy today, blue-black waves capped with gray foam. He parked the truck and was about to walk to the front door when he saw Hedman down on the long floating dock. He was stowing gear on one of his boats and didn’t look up until Gun stepped onto the dock, rocking it slightly.
    Hedman finished tightening the cap on a red fuel tank and smiled without adjusting the muscles of his face. All that happened was the thin line of his mouth lengthened insignificantly. “Hello, Gun,” Hedman said. He picked up the tank and stepped into the black and gold bass boat. A long, skinny man, his move ments flowed like water.
    “Lyle,” Gun said.
    Hedman stood on the floor of the boat, hands on hips. He wore a safari shirt and pants that were tailored to fit snugly around his tubular arms and legs. His fleshy, self-indulgent face belonged on a heavier body, and he kept it cocked to the left, showing Gun only the right side. “You going to shoot me?” he said. He was looking at the.38 Gun was holding.
    Gun tossed it to him. “You’re not an easy guy to drop in on.”
    From the prow of the boat came a low rumble. A huge Irish wolfhound sat there perfectly motionless, its face bearing an expression of intelligence and gravity. The dog’s eyes were the same color as Hedman’s, very light, the shade of watery beer.
    Hedman laughed. “Don’t mind Reuben, he’s very obedient.”
    “I bet.”
    “And about the weapon”—Hedman held up the .38 delicately with two fingers—”believe it or not, we need them here.” He spoke in an easy sibilant tone. “We’ve had trouble with vandals.”
    “Funny,” said Gun. “I heard the same thing from Tig Larson a couple days ago and Carol Long this morning.”
    Hedman smiled thinly again. “A beautiful woman, Ms. Long. Stunning, wouldn’t you say?”