Fit to Die by J. B. Stanley Read Free Book Online Page B

rest of the men began to talk among themselves about their concerns about joining a diet group, but James kept his eyes riveted on Pete Vandercamp, who reached into his pocket, removed a tin of Skoal chewing tobacco, and put a wad inside his left cheek.
    Staring at Pete, it was obvious that the older man had suddenly remembered something, because he pointed accusingly at Ronnie and then began to laugh. His whole body seemed to shake as he mocked the fitness instructor. James could see from Ronnie’s profile that the color had drained from her flushed face, but she seemed to recover quickly. She raised her fist and took a step toward Pete in what was unmistakably a threatening manner. Guffawing, Pete spit a thin stream of brown tobacco juice on the ground, turned his back, and then casually strode away as Ronnie stood motionless, calling angrily after him. James watched as Ronnie took several deep breaths in order to compose herself before she reentered the store.
    When she returned, a wide smile was once again plastered on her face, but James noticed that both of her hands were still clenched into tight fists, as if the rest of her body hadn’t received the message that rage must be completely controlled in front of the customers.

Brady Gerhardt was the newest member of the Quincy’s Gap Volunteer Fire & Rescue Station. Even though he knew about as much as everybody else did about putting out fires, the veterans of the department called him “rookie” and forced him to do all of the menial tasks around the station, such as stocking the pantry and cleaning out the restrooms. Brady didn’t mind. He was an affable young man in his early twenties and felt proud to have joined the grizzled and seasoned men of Fire & Rescue. He also knew that as soon as someone else signed up to volunteer he, Brady, would be able to call that person “rookie,” regardless of the newcomer’s age or station in life.
    At the moment, Brady couldn’t dwell on thoughts of rising in status within the department. It was the annual charity dinner and he was far too busy ladling steaming spoonfuls of homemade Brunswick stew into deep ceramic bowls neatly lined up on a tray in the station’s kitchen to do any thinking at all.
    “Come on, rookie!” Dirk Maguire shouted gruffly. “We got payin’ customers out there and they’re starvin’!”
    Brady wiped a line of perspiration off his brow with the back of a potholder and carefully pushed the tray, filled with delicious-smelling stew, in Dirk’s direction.
    “Keep ’em comin’. We’re gonna be able to keep the lights on after tonight’s dinner for sure.” Dirk hoisted the tray high on his shoulder, as expertly as a waiter in a four-star eatery. Brady was impressed. Dirk worked at the landfill and was noted for his strength and direct mannerisms, but he was clearly graceful as well. “We might even be able to buy that second-hand pool table we’ve been wanting for so long.”
    Other members of the department came noisily into the kitchen, clapping Brady merrily on the back and taking deep swallows of beer from red plastic cups.
    “This dinner’s a record breaker!” bellowed a jovial Chief Lawrence. “Get on out there and enjoy yourself, boy. I’ll spot you for a bit. There’s a lot of pretty women who’d just love to meet a handsome firefighter like yourself.” The chief winked and took the ladle from Brady’s hand.
    “Thanks, Chief!” Without hesitation, Brady stripped off his white vinyl apron bearing the text, If you can’t take the heat, git on out of my kitchen! He darted out of the second-story kitchen and slid down the fire pole leading to the station’s garage, where rows of tables and folding chairs had been set up to accommodate the diners. From the looks of it, every able-bodied person in Quincy’s Gap was either sitting and enjoying their meal, waiting in line for a bowl of stew and a piece of homemade cornbread, or flanking the makeshift bar where cold beer