High Hunt by David Eddings Read Free Book Online Page A

you?”
    â€œYeah, I think so,” I said.
    â€œYou’ve put on some beef since then, huh?” He playfully punched me in the shoulder. “What are you now? About a hundred and ninety?”
    â€œOne-eighty,” I said. “A lot of it’s German beer.” I slapped my belly.
    â€œYou’re lookin’ better. You were pretty scrawny last time I seen you. Sit down, sit down, for Chrissake. Here gimme your jacket. It’s too fuckin’ hot for that thing anyway. Don’t you guys get summer uniforms?”
    â€œMine are all rolled up in the bottom of my duffle bag,” I told him, pulling off the jacket. I saw him briefly glance at the pint I had tucked in my belt. I wasn’t trying to hide it.
    He hung my blouse over a kitchen chair. “How about a beer?”
    â€œSure.” I put the brown-sacked pint on the coffee table and sat down on the slighly battered couch. He was fumbling around in the refrigerator. I think he was a little nervous. I got a kick out of that for some reason.
    I looked around. The trailer was like any other—factory-made, filled with the usual cheap furniture that was guaranteed to look real plush for about six weeks. It had the peculiar smell trailers always have and that odd sense of transience. Somehow it suited Jack. I think he’d been gravitating toward a trailer all his life. At least he fit in someplace. I wondered what I was gravitating toward.
    â€œHere we go,” he said, coming back in with a couple caps of beer. “I just put the kids to bed, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.” He gave me one of the cans and sat in the armchair.
    â€œHow many kids have you got?” I asked him.
    â€œTwo—Marlene and Patsy. Marlene’s two and a half, and Patsy’s one.”
    â€œGood deal,” I said. What the hell else can you say? I pushed the pint over to him. “Here, have a belt of bourbon.”
    â€œDrinkin’ whiskey,” he said approvingly.
    We both had a belt and sat looking at each other.
    â€œWell,” I said inanely, “what are you up to?” I fished out a cigarette to give myself something to do.
    â€œOh, not a helluva lot really, Dan. I’ve been workin’ down the block at the trailer sales place and helping Sloane at his pawnshop now and then. You remember him, don’t you? It’s a real good deal for me because I can take what he owes me out in merchandise, and it don’t show up on my income tax. Margaret’s workin’ in a dime store, and the trailer’s paid for, so we’re in pretty good shape.”
    â€œHow’s the Old Lady? You heard from her lately?” It had to get around to her sooner or later. I figured I’d get it out of the way.
    â€œMom? She’s in Portland. I hear from her once in a while. She’s back on the sauce again, you know.”
    â€œOh, boy,” I said with disgust. That was really the last damned straw. My mother had written me this long, tearjerker letter while I was in Germany about how she had seen the light and was going to give up drinking. I hadn’t answered the damned thing because I really didn’t give a shit one way or the other, but I’d kind of hoped she could make it. I hadn’t seen her completely sober since I was about twelve, and I thought it might be kind of a switch.
    â€œYou and her had a beef, didn’t you?” Jack asked, lighting a cigarette.
    â€œNot really a beef,” I said. “It just all kind of built up. You weren’t around after Dad died.”
    â€œNaw. I saw things goin’ sour long before that. Man, I wasin Navy boot camp three days after my seventeenth birthday. I barely made it back for the funeral.” He jittered the cigarette around in his hands.
    â€œYeah, I remember. After you left, she just got worse and worse. The Old Man hung on, but it finally just wore him down. His insurance kind of set us up for a while,