Half Past Midnight by Jeff Brackett Read Free Book Online Page B

“Kill him and get it over with.”
    The need to urinate returned instantly, more powerful than before. It took a conscious effort to hold back.
    “Naw, listen, Larry. He was snoopin’ around. Kept looking at his watch. I think he’s working with someone else.”
    Wonderful. How long had Frank been watching me?
    Pause. Then, “All right, bring him in.”
    “On my way.” Frank sneered. “Okay, prick, hands on your head.”
    When I had done so, he continued, “Now, we’re going on up the hill a little ways,” he pointed east, “and if I see your hands leave your head just once, I’m gonna put a hole in ya. Got it?”
    “Yes… sir.”
    “Good, you remembered! I’m impressed. Now move.”
    We moved out onto the road and about two-thirds of the way up the hill. There, we turned onto a small dirt road hidden from the highway by some recently planted saplings. It wound through the woods for about half a mile, ending in a small clearing dominated by a little country cabin. In front, a group of four men stood waiting, all but the largest armed with both rifles and sidearms. The exception was a huge Asian—Bruce Lee on steroids.
    Frank stopped me about ten yards away. “Wait here. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay real still.”
    He walked over to one of the armed men and held a whispered conference for a few minutes. Then the one Frank had been speaking to stepped forward. Incredibly, he actually stuck out his hand. “Good evening. My name is Larry Troutman.”
    Real smooth customer. “I’d be happy to shake hands, Larry, but your man Frank has informed me that lowering my hands could be detrimental to my health.”
    He clucked his tongue in apparent dismay. “Frank, don’t be so antisocial. Of course you can lower your hands, Mr.…?”
    “Dawcett.”
    “Mr. Dawcett. Fine. I can see that you’re going to be most cooperative, aren’t you?”
    I guessed his smile was supposed to be reassuring. Unfortunately, it only brought to mind the “Inverse Law of Enemies,” the one that said the more civilly an enemy treated you initially, the nastier his ultimate plans.
    I could already tell I was in for an extremely rough time. Nevertheless, I shook his hand. “I’ll cooperate as much as I can, of course.” I could play games, too.
    His smile broadened. “Fine, fine. Now, would you be so kind as to hand me your wallet. Frank, what is that you’re carrying?”
    Frank handed Larry my machete and Bowie as I pulled out my wallet. Larry tossed the machete aside, but examined the knife intently, turning it over and over. “Very nice. Custom made. This must have cost you quite a bit—” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing the maker’s logo on the blade.
    “You made this?”
    I shrugged.
    “Quite impressive. A man of talent. I presume you have a sheath for it.” I unclipped it from my belt and handed it to him.
    “Thank you, Mr. Dawcett.” He stuck the sheathed blade through his belt and opened my wallet to my driver’s license.
    “Mr. Dawcett… may I call you Leeland?” He went on before I could respond. “I see you’re from Houston, Leeland. That seems a long way to travel on foot.” He looked at me pointedly. “Where is your car?”
    I’d learned as a kid that the best way to lie was to tell the truth, withholding as little as possible. “I was riding a motorcycle, but some jerk in a Rabbit ran me off the road about ten miles back. I’ve been on foot ever since.”
    “In a Rabbit, you say? Was it green, by any chance?”
    I nodded. “You know him?”
    Almost wistfully, he sighed. “We recently offered him our hospitality, but he declined our invitation. Frank, how long ago did he leave us?”
    “’Bout an hour ago.”
    Larry was sharp. He caught my blunder before I even realized I had made one. “You traveled ten miles in an hour on foot? Somehow, I find that difficult to believe.”
    Motioning to the other three men, he sighed. “I believe Mr. Dawcett is being less than