The Last Town (Book 3): Waiting For The Dead by Stephen Knight Read Free Book Online Page A

to his Super Duty. Corbett didn’t wait for them. He marched right for the diner and stepped inside.
    As he’d suspected, most of the patrons inside the dining establishment were from out of town. There was plenty of bar space available, but precious few booths. He saw Danielle Kennedy already at work, serving a big spread to some out-of-towners with little kids. The travelers looked worn down from worry and exhaustion; even the kids, two girls and one boy, appeared to be just about run out as they contemplated the plates of pancakes, eggs, and sausage that were set down before them. Seeing their crestfallen expressions—especially those on the faces of the children—caused Corbett to look away. His plan would save Single Tree, but at the expense of hardworking Americans like these. They would have to be sacrificed in order for the town to survive. While he had long grown accustomed to being viewed as some heartless, big-business boogeyman, causing harm to families in general and kids in particular did not set well with him.
    It’s all about the town, he told himself. For the town. The town.
    He saw Danielle waving him toward one of the two-seater booths that was open. Corbett smiled at her and lumbered forward, sliding into one of the small vinyl-covered seats.
    “Be with you in just a second, Barry,” Danielle said as she shot past, so quickly that no one in the establishment could tell she had even lost a limb on the other side of the planet. Her smile was genuine, though strained. Corbett smiled back, though he was wondering what the hell she was doing in the diner at this hour—he thought she was late staff. And she only worked the tables in the late afternoon for a little extra tip money, before she took her place in the kitchen for the dinner rush.
    “Take your time,” he said. He pulled a menu from the rack off his right elbow even though he didn’t need it. The rest of his men piled into the diner a moment later and locked onto him. Corbett grinned inwardly at their confusion—there was only room for one of them in the small booth. The oldest man waved the three others in his party toward the bar, where there were still plenty of stools available. He then spun on one heel and marched toward Corbett.
    “Am I sitting here, old codger, or are you eating alone?” he asked.
    “I’m eating alone, Walt. Besides, we’ll be seeing each other all day every day for who knows how long. Think of it this way, I’m doing you a favor,” Corbett said.
    Walter Lennon, head of Corbett’s security detail, smiled thinly. Corbett was fairly surprised. Even though he’d known Walt for years—he had served with his father in Vietnam, and had met him when he was just a boy back in the 1970s—the only time he had seen him smile was when his daughter Eloise had been born.
    “You shouldn’t be left unprotected, sir,” Lennon said.
    Corbett cocked a brow. “I’m hardly unprotected, Walt.” He patted his side, where his pistol was concealed beneath his light jacket. “Go on, get with the rest of the guys. They make some awesome cinnamon French toast here. You should try it. And get a side of Huevos al la Mexicana —they do it up right here, just like back in Texas.” As he spoke, he heard a raucous rumble from outside, and he glanced out the diner’s front windows. Victor Kuruk rolled in on his gleaming Harley, bringing the machine to a soft stop right between two parked cars.
    “Is that the same man from last night?” Lennon asked. “The guy from the reservation?”
    Corbett nodded. “None other than the great Victor Kuruk himself. He’ll be joining me.”
    Lennon turned back to Corbett, his smile long gone. “You didn’t mention anything about a breakfast meeting, sir. We really need to stay current on your schedule.”
    “That’s because I didn’t know I was having a breakfast meeting, Walt. But Vic’s not exactly a regular here, so he’s apparently looking for me.” Corbett raised his hand before