The Last Town (Book 2): Preparing For The Dead by Stephen Knight Read Free Book Online

see. I’ll trust your corporate account.” He pulled out his smartphone. “What is it?” He typed in the address as Norton read it off, confirmed it, then put the phone back in his pocket.
    “Check out what I’ll be sending you. All PDF files, password-protected. Password is ‘semper dash fi.’ You can remember that?”
    “ Semper fi with a dash between the words. Sure, I can remember that,” Norton said.
    “All right, then. See you later tonight.”
    “Sure. By the way, I left the ‘dink whores’ in because the cable company wanted them. People like some titillation with their war stories,” Norton said, as Corbett turned toward his truck.
    “The only people who want titillation with their wars are those who’ve never had to carry a gun,” Corbett responded without breaking stride. He walked to the idling truck, pulled the driver’s door open, and climbed in. Norton watched the old man throw the big truck in reverse, back out of the parking space, and take off down the street. He was shadowed by his bodyguards in the Expedition, who took off after him without sparing Norton so much as a parting glance. Norton stood there in the bright sunlight and watched as the vehicles turned right on Main Street and disappeared from view.
    So, I’m finally quit of Barry Corbett. I wonder just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, here.
    Walking to his old Jeep Cherokee Chief, he dug around in his pocket for the keys. Unlike Corbett, his ride didn’t have a remote starter, so he’d have to turn it over and drive with the windows cranked open for a while until the air-conditioning could catch up. The vehicle was a little dirty; even though he left it in the hangar, there was still a fine patina of dust spread across its firecracker red paint that hadn’t lifted off during the drive up from the airport. He decided he’d take it over to Watson’s Self-Serve Car Wash for a welcome home bath, then get on home. He unlocked the Cherokee and slid into its hot interior, thankful that it had cloth seats instead of vinyl. It cranked up right away, and after switching on the air-conditioning, he cranked down the driver and passenger side windows. The Cherokee had been bought new in 1979 by his father, and it had been passed on to Norton in his senior year in high school. Even though it was severely dated by modern standards, Norton still felt a small thrill every time he climbed inside the trusty four-wheel drive. It was like he was a teenager all over again, and Norton relished the feeling. Being forty-nine going on eighteen wasn’t so bad.
    He backed out of the parking space and accelerated toward Main Street, the Cherokee’s big tires whirring across the cracked blacktop. He heard more sirens, and as he drew close to the intersection, he saw a couple of cars and a battered pickup truck pull to the right. A moment later, an ambulance sped past, headed south. Norton wondered what was going on, and a small worm of dread squirmed about in his belly.
    Take it easy, Hoss. Someone just got hurt in a fender bender, or something, he told himself as he brought the Cherokee to a halt at the intersection and flipped on the right turn signal. After making sure the approaching lanes were clear, he made his turn and headed north up Main Street. Traffic was a bit thicker than what he thought was normal, but that happened fairly often. Main Street was part of US Highway 395, an artery that ran from north to south, connecting Single Tree with Inyo County and the rest of the great state of California. It wasn’t unusual for a good amount of traffic to roll through the town, and while occasionally inconvenient, it was mostly a good thing. Single Tree needed the dollars that travelers left behind while purchasing gasoline or food. But given what was happening in the rest of the world, Norton wondered if this time there wasn’t a more insidious reason behind the increased traffic.
    After watching LA dissembling from a helicopter and