Strum Again? Book Three of the Songkiller Saga by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough Read Free Book Online Page A

grand guided
tour."
    "Much obliged, sir," said Guttenberg,
hitching up his spectacles, slinging his bedroll over his shoulder,
and picking up his guitar case by the binder's twine that held it
together. He walked from the office with such a bowlegged swagger
he almost fell off his boots. He had played his part shrewdly. He'd
heard about all the cowboy poets hiring on here at this spread and
figured by now that most of them, who had got their start in
cowboyin', might need a dude to break in who didn't know squat
about brandin' cows or bustin' horses but who could sure as hell
clean up their syntax and scansion.
     
    * * *
     
    "It's about twenty miles to the road where
Gus is supposed to meet us," Willie told the others. "Now, that's
not all that far by car or horseback, and I don't imagine it's all
that bad a jog on a paved path for a couple of us, but this ain't
no paved path. You don't run far around here if you know what's
good for you. Heat stroke happens, even to seasoned hands, even to
Mexicans if they don't use good sense. There's rattlers too, and
you don't want to jog right into one. So we'll stay together and
take it easy."
    "Does this make us wetbacks?" Dan asked
jokingly.
    "Yeah, I guess it does. And we're likely to
meet some of the other kind too. Used to be they were all just
working people looking for better pay so they can take care of
their families. But when I was working here, that kind of wetbacks
were getting scared off by the other kind—the kind who come up
carrying fancy sports bags and high-powered weapons and good
running shoes. Drug runners, gunrunners, other kinds of smugglers
and worse."
    He didn't say what was worse, and nobody
wanted to ask. Recent experience had made them all leery of what
Gussie would have called "borrowing trouble." There was no need to
borrow it. They found their own share soon enough.
     
    * * *
     
    The Doom and Destruction Devil usually dealt
in large-scale belligerency—small wars, police actions,
low-intensity conflicts, invasions—but his department did contain
more personalized services, and it was these the Chairdevil decided
to deploy when the first line of offense failed.
    "Time for minions again, Threedee," Chair
told him, having asked him to remain while the others went to
supervise their worldwide divisions.
    "I have a lot going on just now, Chair,"
Threedee said. "I don't think I have a war-mad politician,
ganglord, or anybody of that caliber to spare."
    "How about your serial killers?" he asked.
"Any of them in the Albuquerque area?"
    "Well, nobody right now of your Speck or
Bundy caliber, but I have a few crazies and some talented amateurs
who eliminate a few individuals on a regular basis—Indians,
Mexicans, blacks, prostitutes, sometimes coeds, sometimes
homosexuals, often little old ladies. These people aren't
professional, you understand, but they do love their work."
    "How about in the vicinity of the MacKai
party?"
    "Piece of cake. Got a group coming into
position right now on another job. Shouldn't even have to redeploy
them. I think your MacKai party is probably going to stumble over
them in the middle of another operation."
    "Fine. Then get your New Mexico people on
the job and pop down to supervise the business in Texas, will
you?"
    "Boss, I've got a million irons in the fire.
How about the business in Africa? How about that Chinese-Mongolian
deal I've been working on for years? And I'm afraid that if I don't
keep stirring the Middle Eastern situation, a peace accord may
break out at any time."
    "This will only take a minute. Attention to
detail is important, Threedee. You should know that by now. Now get
on the horn to Albuquerque."
    Threedee picked up a special handset,
punched a button, and spoke into it. "Now hear this. This is your
voices speaking, aka the master, aka the devil who makes you do it.
Be it known to you that little old women driving brown minivans are
an abomination in my sight and should be slaughtered like sheep.
This kind