single-roomed shack sitting back from the overgrown trail. We had come up on the blind side of it. Lily glanced over her shoulder and her mouth twisted into a taunting smile. "There it is," she said. "He's down there in that shack."
I put my hand on the gun in my jacket pocket. I pushed off the safety catch, telling myself I felt better with my hand on the automatic.
My heart was slugging against my ribs. There had never been a ninth inning like this. In baseball my job had depended on what I did next, but now my life hung on my decisions in the next few minutes.
"Go ahead," I whispered.
She laughed again. "You go. Marve Pooser doesn't like company. He might have a gun fixed on us right now."
I breathed in deeply and walked out into the clearing. She moved behind me and I was aware of her there.
There was no window in the side of the shack facing us. It sat up on two foot brick foundations so you could see under the house. A narrow brick chimney rose up the blind side of the house.
There was no sign of movement about the shack. There was no car or animal in the yard. An outhouse leaned dispiritedly at the far end of the clearing. What must have once been a barn had been blown apart so only the framing stood. The shack was petrified gray pine and the shingles were cypress. There was the silence of a graveyard over the whole scrub.
I reached the side of the house, walked around it, my fist sweated about the automatic.
I stepped cautiously around the side of the house. The wooden covering was down over the right window. There was a small sagging stoop out front and five pine slab steps to climb.
The front door stood open.
I put my foot on the lower step, worked the gun free from my jacket.
"Just leave it there, Jake."
My head jerked up and I saw him sitting inside that door. I recognized that voice. I had not sought him for no reason. This was the man who had robbed McAteer's, called me by name. The loud-mouthed Romeo of the pinball machine. The used-car salesman. The bastard who had robbed me of everything I had.
He had a rifle trained on my navel. He held the gun negligently across his knees. "Been waiting for you," Marve Pooser said. "What took you so long?"
He flicked his glance toward Lily at my shoulder.
"We got here quick as we could," she said.
He laughed, his voice booming out of that cabin. "Sure you did, Lily. You done the best you could. You done just what I told you. You brought old Jake right straight out here to me."
THE SCRUB
We went slowly up the steps to the sagging stoop. There was nothing else to do except keep walking toward the black mouth of that rifle. It looked like the prim-lipped mouth of a sour-faced spinster. It would spit just enough venom to handle the situation, the sharp sting of death.
Marve was sitting on an old kitchen chair. Behind him the room was in faded shadow, but appeared sparsely furnished.
The first thing I noticed about Marve Pooser was the strange bracelet he wore on his left hand. I had to look three times, and see it stir slightly before I believed it; it was a coral snake.
"Like it?" Marve's loud voice struck against us as we stepped onto the stoop. He held up his left arm for a moment, letting the rifle sag to his knees.
I knew better than to jump him. It looked as if he were daring me to. I couldn't pull my gaze from the deadly snake looped about his wrist. It reared its head, slightly larger than a pencil eraser. "This baby is the harlequin, Jake-boy. But you can call him Harley."
He laughed and lifted the gun again.
I went on staring at the snake. I knew they were deadly poisonous, had never ever heard of any antidote for its poison. I remembered what Henry Sistrunk had told me. Marve Pooser had collected these corals, rattlers and water
I put my hand on the gun in my jacket pocket. I pushed off the safety catch, telling myself I felt better with my hand on the automatic.
My heart was slugging against my ribs. There had never been a ninth inning like this. In baseball my job had depended on what I did next, but now my life hung on my decisions in the next few minutes.
"Go ahead," I whispered.
She laughed again. "You go. Marve Pooser doesn't like company. He might have a gun fixed on us right now."
I breathed in deeply and walked out into the clearing. She moved behind me and I was aware of her there.
There was no window in the side of the shack facing us. It sat up on two foot brick foundations so you could see under the house. A narrow brick chimney rose up the blind side of the house.
There was no sign of movement about the shack. There was no car or animal in the yard. An outhouse leaned dispiritedly at the far end of the clearing. What must have once been a barn had been blown apart so only the framing stood. The shack was petrified gray pine and the shingles were cypress. There was the silence of a graveyard over the whole scrub.
I reached the side of the house, walked around it, my fist sweated about the automatic.
I stepped cautiously around the side of the house. The wooden covering was down over the right window. There was a small sagging stoop out front and five pine slab steps to climb.
The front door stood open.
I put my foot on the lower step, worked the gun free from my jacket.
"Just leave it there, Jake."
My head jerked up and I saw him sitting inside that door. I recognized that voice. I had not sought him for no reason. This was the man who had robbed McAteer's, called me by name. The loud-mouthed Romeo of the pinball machine. The used-car salesman. The bastard who had robbed me of everything I had.
He had a rifle trained on my navel. He held the gun negligently across his knees. "Been waiting for you," Marve Pooser said. "What took you so long?"
He flicked his glance toward Lily at my shoulder.
"We got here quick as we could," she said.
He laughed, his voice booming out of that cabin. "Sure you did, Lily. You done the best you could. You done just what I told you. You brought old Jake right straight out here to me."
THE SCRUB
We went slowly up the steps to the sagging stoop. There was nothing else to do except keep walking toward the black mouth of that rifle. It looked like the prim-lipped mouth of a sour-faced spinster. It would spit just enough venom to handle the situation, the sharp sting of death.
Marve was sitting on an old kitchen chair. Behind him the room was in faded shadow, but appeared sparsely furnished.
The first thing I noticed about Marve Pooser was the strange bracelet he wore on his left hand. I had to look three times, and see it stir slightly before I believed it; it was a coral snake.
"Like it?" Marve's loud voice struck against us as we stepped onto the stoop. He held up his left arm for a moment, letting the rifle sag to his knees.
I knew better than to jump him. It looked as if he were daring me to. I couldn't pull my gaze from the deadly snake looped about his wrist. It reared its head, slightly larger than a pencil eraser. "This baby is the harlequin, Jake-boy. But you can call him Harley."
He laughed and lifted the gun again.
I went on staring at the snake. I knew they were deadly poisonous, had never ever heard of any antidote for its poison. I remembered what Henry Sistrunk had told me. Marve Pooser had collected these corals, rattlers and water
Similar Books
