Darwin's Blade by Dan Simmons Read Free Book Online Page A

yeah,” said Henry, smiling as if bragging about a grandchild. “The stroke didn’t make him stupid. His speech was…well, it was hard to understand him…but Rose and Verna and I could always make out what he was saying.”
    â€œRose is Mr. Treehorn’s…Bud’s…wife?” said Dar.
    â€œOnly for fifty-two years,” said Henry. “Verna, she’s my third wife. Been married twenty-two years this coming January.”
    â€œThe night of the accident…,” prompted Dar.
    Henry frowned, knowing that he was being put back on track. “You asked if he could make his wishes known, young man. I’m tellin’ you he could…but mostly it was Rose and Verna and me who understood him and sorta…you know…translated to others.”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Dar, accepting the rebuke.
    â€œWell, the night of the accident…four nights ago…Bud and I came over to the clubhouse as usual to play pinochle.”
    â€œHe could still play cards,” said Dar. Strokes were strange and frightening things to him.
    â€œHell, yes, he could still play cards,” said Henry, voice rising again but smiling this time. “Won more often than not, too. Told you, stroke messed up the left side of his body and made it hard for him to…you know…form words. Didn’t hurt his mind though. Nope, Bud was as sharp as a tack.”
    â€œWas there anything different on the night of the accident?” said Dar.
    â€œNot with Bud there wasn’t,” said Henry, his jaw setting firmly. “Picked him up at quarter till nine, just like every Friday night. Bud grunted some things, but Rose and me knew that he was saying that he was going to clean us out that night. Win big. Nothing different about Bud that night at all.”
    â€œNo,” said Dar, “I meant, was there anything different about the clubhouse or the street or the—”
    â€œOh, hell, yes,” said Henry. “That’s the reason it all happened. Those chowderheads who came to repave the street had parked their asphalt rolling machine in front of the handicapped ramp.”
    â€œThe handicapped ramp out front,” said Dar. “The one in front of the main entrance?”
    â€œYep,” said Henry. “Only entrance open after eight P.M. We like to start our games at nine…generally run to midnight or later. But Bud always leaves so as to be home by eleven because he wants to be there before Rose goes to sleep. She don’t sleep well without Bud next to her and…” Henry paused and a cloud moved across his clear blue eyes, as if he had just remembered.
    â€œBut Friday night, the asphalt rolling machine had been left in front of the only handicapped access ramp,” said Dar.
    Henry’s eyes seemed to refocus from some distant place. “What? Yeah. That’s what I said. Come on, I’ll show you.”
    The two men walked out into the heat. The access ramp was clear now, the asphalt new on the street beyond. Henry gestured at it. “The damn asphalt truck blocked the whole ramp and Bud’s Pard couldn’t make it up the curb.” They walked together the twenty feet to the curb.
    Dar noted that it was a standard street curb, angled at about seventy-eight degrees to be easier on car tires. But it had been too steep for Bud’s little electric cart.
    â€œNo problem,” said Henry. “I went in and got Herb, Wally, Don, a couple of the other boys, and we lifted Bud and his Pard up onto the walk as smooth as you please. Then he drove himself into the card game.”
    â€œAnd you played until about eleven P.M. ,” said Dar. He was holding the tiny recorder at waist level, but the mike was aimed at Henry.
    â€œYes, that’s right,” said Henry, his voice slower now as he pictured the end of the evening in detail. “Bud, he grunted and made some noises. The other boys didn’t