ocalypse (Book 10): Drawl (Duncan's Story) by Shawn Chesser Read Free Book Online

said nothing. He flopped his head over the sofa back
and ran a hand through his gray hair.
    “You drank yourself out of the right seat, Duncan. And now your
drinking has gotten you slapped with two new DUIs. Your problem with the drink
is real . At least admit that to yourself.”
    Still, Duncan made no reply.
    She countered the silence by saying, “That’s the first step,
you know. Admitting —”
    Duncan mumbled, “I can do it on my own. Besides … I was done
with Stump Town Aviation a long time ago.” He thumbed the Call End button, flipped
the phone closed and chucked it unceremoniously on the table by his keys.
Surrounded by a heavy silence, he drained his beer in one long gulp, belched
into his shoulder and wiped his silver mustache on his shirt sleeve.
    “I ain’t no quitter,” he muttered. Grabbing the remote off
the side table, he pointed the sleek device at the television a dozen feet to
his fore, and powered it on.
    As the big flat screen came to life, he stood and walked the
dead soldier to the kitchen, hoping to find the willpower to return empty-handed.
     

Chapter 8
     
     
    Cursing quietly at the snarl of honking cars clogging the
street and wanting to be true to his word that he’d get his fare to Mickey Finn’s
on time and under budget—the promised tip and cold beverage figuring heavily into
the decision—Nate threw the transmission into Reverse and made a quick J-turn.
Before the line of cars could hem them in, he nosed the retired cruiser through
a nearly empty parking lot, looped behind the Laughing Planet restaurant, and
emerged on a cross street still three blocks west of his fare’s intended
destination.
    With the meter at $17.00 and climbing, Nate swung a left and
sped east down a side street paralleling Woodstock. At this point the challenge
seemed personal. Charlie gripped the grab bar as the three blocks went by in a
blur of front stoops, parked cars, and mature trees.
    Finally, with the meter creeping toward $17.50, the cabbie
hooked another hard left and came to a screeching halt in front of Mickey Finn’s
east-facing windows.
    “Seventeen dollars and seventy-six cents,” crowed Nate in a
deep baritone, as he punched a grimy button on the meter, halting the red
numeral’s steady crawl. “Told you I could do it in under twenty.”
    “And I didn’t doubt you for a second,” Charlie said as he
stared at the cab’s reflection in the bar’s windows. The sun was nearly
overhead and beating down, throwing a glare off the vertical glass. He squinted
and shielded his eyes with a hand, trying to see inside. There was some movement.
Just shadow-like blobs at the bar tipping back pint glasses, but seeing as how the
parking lot where Duncan would have parked his pick-up was on the building’s
opposite side, there was no way Charlie could discern if one of the vague
shapes was him or not. So he handed Nate a twenty with a five folded inside and
said, “You coming in for a drink?”
    After a moment’s hesitation, Nate shook his head. “I better
not. They’re bound to lift the no-fly if I do. Can’t afford to miss out on
those fares.”
    “I might need a lift to 87th and Flavel. Can you wait for just
a second while I poke my head inside?”
    Nate nodded and swept a hand at the cars vying for entry to
the Bi-Mart lot. “I’ve got to backtrack the way we came no matter what I do. Go
on inside. I’ll turn around and give you a couple of minutes. Least I can do …
not many good tippers left.”
    “If my friend isn’t inside,” said Charlie, “I’ll be right
out.”
    The driver nodded and slipped the cash into his shirt
pocket.
     
    Unico Building Downtown
     
    Don was just getting into his routine. His stress level from
sitting in the city bus in the midst of so much negative energy was no longer
sky high. The side-effects from whatever ingredients were in the tear gas shells
the police had used on the anarchist occupiers were no more aggravating to him
now than a mild case