Lady in Flames by Ian Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

enter from the rear.
    It’s tough going. The play in the wheel jerks me left and right when the tires catch the snow the wrong way. The right front fender bites into brick, scraping me to a stop.
    I weasel out of the driver side with barely enough space to open the door. Tools in hand, I slosh the twenty feet to the back of Lady Luck. My mind sets a rhythm my heart can’t keep up with. The dead air can’t silence the warnings going off in my head now.
    This is it. The point where you can’t turn back. Buck is your enemy. How bad do you want to mess with him? It’s about revenge. Do you have enough fuel?
    Setting aside the turpentine and matches, I shove the straight end of the crow bar between the door and frame, but it’s ten times sturdier than the hardware. A few more useless jabs and I’m panicked that I won’t get in. I can’t go at this for long. There’ll be traffic around the square soon when the diner opens.
    I decide to yank down the fire escape and make for the second floor window. Scrambling up the grated steps, I tear my jeans and drop a can of turpentine into the snow. At the top, I lean past the rail and turn the window into a thousand sharp pieces with the crow bar.
    I toss everything inside and haul myself into a room where there’s a metal desk, matching file cabinets, and a green safe. It must be Buck’s office. I slow down long enough to douse the desk and the waste basket with turpentine before I’m out the door and hustling down the stairs to the bar below.
    Most of the fixtures are wood. The staircase, rafters, bar… Lots to burn. The big screen T.V.s will melt. I take one more quick glance around and then let loose.
    I’m a mad man. I smash bar stools into kindling and pile a few in the middle of the room. Crashing into the restroom, I grab as many rolls of toilet paper as I can as well as an old newspaper I find in one of the stalls.
    I pile all this on top of the busted-up stools and dump out another can of solvent. Opening the third can, I run a trail of liquid from the pile towards the front of the building where a few booths and high tables sit.
    Moving back toward the bar, I smash liquor bottles all across the counter, hoping they’ll catch fire when everything gets going. With the last can, I run another trail from the broken stools through the swinging door into the kitchen.
    I punch holes in the low ceiling with the crowbar to help with the airflow. That should help take the fire straight up into the office. I spin around to grab a tall waste basket and unravel a roll of paper towels I find on the prep counter. This I soak in the last few glugs of turpentine.
    I drop a lit match into the basket and place it on top of the stove. Then I lean down to light the oily trail on the tile floor that leads back out to the bar area. For good measure, I light one more match and drop it into the open box of unlit ones. I climb the opposite counter and shove the flaming box into one of the holes in the ceiling.
    Jumping down, I race for the rear door. I fumble with the dead bolt and then slide into the alley. The car seems a mile away and I slip and fall twice before I reach it. Snow covered, I drop into the driver seat and slam the door. The fenders bang and scrape down the rest of the way, tires refusing traction.
    Once I’m free of the alley, I pull back into the square and head east out of town, wishing I could see the look on Buck’s face when he finds out his stupid bar is ash.

Watching the Lady Burn
    February 27 th , 2002 5:48 AM
    Inside Leland Shaw’s pickup
    I’ve got contracts. Hand-shaken, spit-on-the-dollar contracts. Each one of them says I’ve got to plow snow, so I’m up before the sun.
    The rusty yellow metal scrapes across the asphalt of Spectrum Used Cars as I gas the truck back and forth. The lot’s every bit as small as it looks. Probably only holds fifteen cars. I make quick work of it because I’ve got three others to clear before eight.
    I started a half-hour