Should Have Killed The Kid by R. Frederick Hamilton Read Free Book Online Page A

and a tarmac road and Dave had felt a flicker of faint hope. Clearly the area around him was in the process of being revamped. Across the road from the Gallo's Hotel twelve brick houses stood in varying states of completion. Their uniformity suggested some manner of estate was in the process of being constructed and, judging by the cleared land and stilled machinery that surrounded them, many more were in the offing.
    Although that faint hope had been crushed the second he turned off into the boggy car park and seen that the hotel itself had more in keeping with the house in the forest.
    But that's okay, I'm not here for its stunning looks, Dave thought as he slowly breathed in and out and then opened the door. The wind hit him like a knife, cutting straight through his jumper like it was made of mesh. The rain swiftly followed, angled perfectly to fall through the car door and saturate Dave before he even had a chance to clamber out.
    As he struggled around to the boot to retrieve his duffle bag, he could almost hear the tone Naomi's voice took on when she was pissed. Don't you even watch the news, David? There's floods up that way at the moment. Why the hell would you book in for a holiday?
    And that had been before the real kicker had been revealed.
    A pub? A goddamn pub? That had been her reaction.
    No, not a pub, a hotel. An old one. You like that kind of stuff, he'd replied.
    I like old architecture, David. I do not like excuses for you to drink yourself stupid. She'd shredded that idea like tissue paper and then the fireworks had really started.
    He slammed the Tiida's boot shut a little harder than he had to, then slung the duffle bag across his shoulder and trudged his way across the boggy ground to the relative shelter of the verandah.
    Over the thrum of the rain on the tin roof the sound of hammering reached him interspersed with the occasional high pitched whine of a power tool from beyond the propped open flyscreen. As he slicked the excess rain from his hair and eyes, Dave saw what looked like a door that had been transformed into a ramp to bridge the step on the threshold. The white paint was scuffed and tracked with muddy footprints that suddenly left a sinking feeling in Dave's stomach.
    Combined with the utes lined up out front and the general state of the building, Dave was starting to think that the marathon drive may have been a wasted one. Surely the place couldn't be in operation?
    Though they did take a deposit. He remembered how excited he'd been plugging in his credit card number on the online form. How he'd sat there thinking he'd found the best of both worlds: the old building for Naomi and well, if necessary, he could still get in the odd quick pint.
    He could only snort in derision now at how very wrong he'd been.
    'Hello?' Dave leaned around the door and called as the hammering and power tools abruptly cut off but there was no response. It was the sort of situation he'd always hated. Although he knew it was ridiculous, he couldn't help feeling that he'd step right through the door and right into the path of a screaming tradesman. What the fuck are you doing?
    Almost be easier to just head back to the car, Dave thought, at least until a fresh gust knifed even icier through his saturated clothes and he realised how dumb he was being. What? I'm going to throw away seventy bucks just 'cause I'm worried about coming off as a tool.
    Dave let the bluster carry him over the threshold and crunched his way across plastic drop-sheets into a little doglegged alcove, slicking more water free from his hair.
    Then he stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping as he turned the corner and entered a completely different world.
    One of stained wood, leather and immaculately polished floorboards. So divorced from the exterior that, for a moment, Dave stood gaping. He glanced back, wondering if he'd somehow stepped through a portal and been transported to a completely different location but the plastic drop-sheet