Right as Rain by George P. Pelecanos Read Free Book Online Page A

room, and locked the door behind him.
    Edna was waiting for him out in the bar. She gave him a wet kiss as he palmed the vial over to her, then left the barn with her drink in her hand.
    “Ready, Daddy?”
    “Sure thing.”
    EARL hated the city. There was only one thing good about it, far as he was concerned. It was down in the warehouse they called the Junkyard. For him, it was worth the trip.
    Earl Boone stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. He killed his beer and crushed the can in his hand, dropping the empty in a wastebasket beside the electronic poker game. He slipped a deck of Marlboro reds into his shirt pocket and watched his son take his own pack of ’Boros off the bar and do the same.
    Earl stood as his son crossed the room. Earl was a weathered version of the boy, the plow lines on his cheeks somewhat masking the acne scars, and deep—set, flat eyes. He was taller than Ray by six inches and wider across the shoulders and back. Unlike the boy, he’d never lifted a weight when he wasn’t paid to do so, and he didn’t understand those who did. A hitch in the Marine Corps and hard work had given him his build.
    “Let’s do it,” said Ray.
    Earl smiled a little, looking at those high—heeled boots on his boy’s feet. Ray sure did have a thing about his lack of height.
    “Somethin’ funny?” said Ray.
    “Nothin’,” said Earl.
    Earl picked up a cooler that held a six—pack and looked around the bar and gaming area before he shut down the lights. He was real proud of what they’d done here, him and his boy. The way they had it fixed up, it looked like one of those old—time saloons. The kind they used to have in those towns out west.
    EDNA Loomis filled the bowl of a bong with pot and dropped a crystal of methamphetamine on top of the load. She stood at the window of the bedroom where she and Ray slept in the house and watched Ray and Earl leave the barn and head for their car, a hopped—up Ford parked between an F—150 pickup and Ray’s Shovelhead Harley.
    Edna flicked the wheel of a Bic lighter and got fire. She held the flame over the bowl and drew in a hit of ice over grass. Holding in the high, she watched Ray dismantle the top of the car’s bumper, then take the heroin out of the day pack and stuff the packets into the space between the bumper and the trunk of the car.
    She coughed out the hit, a mushroom of smoke exploding against the glass of the bedroom window.
    Ray put a strip of rubber or something over the heroin and replaced the top of the bumper, pounding it into place with the heel of his hand. Earl was facing the wide gravel path that led in from the state road, keeping an eye out for any visitors. The both of them, thought Edna, they were just paranoid as all hell. No one ever came down that road. There was a locked wooden gate at the head of it, anyhow.
    Edna was still coughing, thinking of Ray and Earl and their business, and her head started to pound, and for a moment she got a little bit scared. But she knew the pounding was just the rush of the ice hitting her brain, and then she stopped coughing and felt good. Then she felt better than good, suddenly straightened out right. She lit a Virginia Slim from a pack she kept in a leather case, picked up her drink, and sipped at it, trying to make it last.
    She went to the TV set on the bureau and turned up the volume. Some white chick with orange hair was up on a stage, sitting next to a big black dude. The white chick was fat and asshole ugly, not surprising, and now some bubble—assed black chick was walking out on the stage and, boy, did she look meaner than a motherfucker, too. Looked like she was about to put a hurtin’ on the white chick for sleeping with her old man. And damn if she wasn’t throwing a punch at the white chick now… . Edna had seen this one, or it could have been that she was just imagining that she had.
    She went back to the window and looked down at the yard. Earl and Ray were three—point turning,