Ugly As Sin by James Newman Read Free Book Online Page B

should announce his presence, call out to whomever might still be in the house. No...he decided it would be best to keep the element of surprise in his favor till he knew what he was up against.
    He stepped through a small living room, past a recliner, a loveseat, and a coffee table stained with old cup-rings. The house was dark. It had that stale “closed-in” odor of a place that has been empty of any human presence for a while, a smell that was not too strong but still slightly unpleasant. Against one wall stood a widescreen TV and a tall potted plant that had starved to death weeks ago.
    In the hallway that connected the living room to the rear of the house, the beige carpet was matted with an ugly maroon blotch. The stain spread out approximately three feet in diameter, but did not stop at the baseboard; it climbed several inches up the wall in a starburst pattern. Dozens of black dots speckled the wall as well—damage left by the spray of shotgun pellets.
    It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this was the spot where Eddie had been murdered.
    Nick swallowed a foul taste in his mouth, stepped over the stain.
    ...and he heard a loud THUMP toward the back of the house.
    He froze.
    Another THUD , followed by a muffled curse.
    He wished he had a weapon. Thought about going back for the tire iron in his truck. Tried not to think about the possibility that he might be creeping up on a trigger-happy cop.
    He took another cautious step forward.
    He had never realized how difficult it was for a guy his size to sneak . Of course, with the exception of a crude storyline in the early days of his “feud” with Big Bubba Bad-Ass—he had “broken into” Eric’s house, and as the marks booed him on the Widowmaker “planted video cameras” throughout his enemy’s home: in a bedroom, the shower, everywhere Big Bubba shared intimate moments with his bikini-model wife—Nick Bullman had never had any reason to sneak around. He feared that his every step could be heard all the way back in Midnight. He imagined the customers in Annie’s Country Diner holding on to their seats, staring wide-eyed at the ripples in their coffee each time one of his Size 16 boots touched the floor.
    He sucked in a deep breath, held it as he moved through the house: past a cluttered utility room...a bathroom so tiny he suspected he’d get stuck if he tried to turn around in there...and a bedroom decorated with posters of brooding, black-clad rock stars. The latter, he assumed, was where his granddaughter once slept.
    Again he heard movement. It came from the master bedroom up ahead, on his right. Sounded like someone searching for something—drawers being yanked open, footsteps pacing back and forth. And, every few seconds, exasperated curses in a thick Southern accent...
    “Dammit, you gotta be in here somewhere!”
    Nick slid along the wall, inching closer, until he stood just three or four feet from the open doorway of the master bedroom.
    A floorboard creaked beneath his boot.
    The noises abruptly ceased.
    Nick mouthed a breathless curse. He stood statue-still. Waiting, listening. Wishing again that he had a weapon...
    After for what felt like forever, he again moved toward the bedroom.
    He risked a glance through the doorway.
    Clothes were tangled and strewn all over the floor. On the king-sized bed lay jagged pieces of a shattered acoustic guitar. A lamp dangled off a nightstand, its cord stretched taut. Against the wall to Nick’s right stood a large mirrored dresser; half of its drawers hung open, the other half were dumped upside-down on the floor.
    Nick stepped into the bedroom.
    He was alone. But how...?
    At the back of the room a thin doorway opened onto another small bathroom. A rectangle of evening sunlight bled through a frosted-glass window above the toilet. He wondered if whomever had been making all that racket had escaped through that window. Impossible. It appeared to be merely decorative, and was just slightly wider than