Dead South (A Bryson Wilde Thriller / Read in Any Order) by R.J. Jagger Page B
Authors: R.J. Jagger
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cost.”
“Well, we haven’t paid anything yet, unless you count gas money.”
Up ahead three coyotes loped through the brush near the side of the road. “That’s a hell of a way to make your living,” Wilde said. “With your teeth.”
“I like coyotes.”
“Why?”
“They’re good hunters.”
“Coyotes?”
“Yes. Watch them sometime. You’ll be amazed.” She paused and added, “When we get down to El Paso I think we should bypass the lawyer and go straight to Mexico. I’m going to pretend to be Sudden Dance. I’ll pretend something happened to my memory, that I got hit in the head or something. That’ll be why I can’t remember a lot of the stuff I should know.”
The words ripped through Wilde’s gut.
“No.”
“If I’m Sudden Dance and I’m alive, Rojo won’t have a reason to kill you.”
“No.”
“I’ll get in close. I’ll figure out where Maria is. I’ll get him to tell me. I’ll harass him until he does.”
Wilde’s chest tightened so much that his foot slammed on the brake. Blondie skidded to a to a halt and Wilde killed the engine.
He grabbed Jori-Rey’s arm and squeezed tight.
“We’re not going another foot until you promise to stay out of it and not do anything until and unless I tell you.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Wilde said.
Jori-Rey hardened her face. Then she broke free, got out of the car, slammed the door, flicked the butt on the road and walked off.
“You’re a hundred miles from nowhere,” Wilde shouted.
“I’ve walked farther.”
Wilde sucked the last drag out of his smoke and dropped it over the side. Jori-Rey continued into the distance, every step another act of defiance
Wilde didn’t follow.
He’d let her cool off.
She was a hundred yards away now.
He lit a cigarette.
The woman kept walking.
She didn’t slow, not a bit.
She didn’t turn around.
Stubborn little thing.
Two minutes passed, then two more.
She disappeared around a bend in the road.
Wilde shook his head three minutes later, defeated, and turned the key, having no option except to get her back in the car and try to talk some sense into her.
No sound came.
The starter didn’t crank.
It didn’t make a sound at all.
It mocked him with complete and absolute silence.
Wilde slammed his hand on the dash, then got out and opened the hood. He would have never stopped out here in the middle of nowhere if Jori-Rey hadn’t been so crazy.
It was her fault.
Suddenly a car came from behind and passed.
Wilde’s head was in the engine when it did.
He didn’t even know it was there until it was disappearing up the road.
It was a shinny black coupe.
It was heading for Jori-Rey.
Wilde’s gut churned.
The problem was electrical; he knew that. The starter wasn’t getting any juice. The connections looked good on the battery. Still, there might be hidden corrosion. He wrestled the tool kit out of the trunk, worked the connectors off and gave them a look. They had a green crust on the inside. He filed them clean, reattached them good and tight and tried the key again.
Nothing happened.
He got out and kicked the wheel.
Come on you piece of crap!
29
Day Seven
August 9, 1952
Friday Afternoon
It took ten minuetes for Wilde to figure out what Blondie’s problem was, ten infinitely-long minutes. The cure was to wrench down a loose connection at the starter, but by the time he figured it out and stomped on the gas, Jori-Rey had already been gone forever.
Around the bend, she didn’t appear in sight.
Worse, she didn’t appear up the road, which was fairly straight with a good half-mile visibility.
Wilde pushed the pedal to the floor.
The magnamoss responded.
A mile clicked off, then two.
Jori-Rey couldn’t have walked this far.
Wilde’s chest tightened.
The woman had to be in the coupe, that was the only explanation. She wouldn’t have hitched a ride. She’d been making a point by stomping off but she wouldn’t have gone so far
“Well, we haven’t paid anything yet, unless you count gas money.”
Up ahead three coyotes loped through the brush near the side of the road. “That’s a hell of a way to make your living,” Wilde said. “With your teeth.”
“I like coyotes.”
“Why?”
“They’re good hunters.”
“Coyotes?”
“Yes. Watch them sometime. You’ll be amazed.” She paused and added, “When we get down to El Paso I think we should bypass the lawyer and go straight to Mexico. I’m going to pretend to be Sudden Dance. I’ll pretend something happened to my memory, that I got hit in the head or something. That’ll be why I can’t remember a lot of the stuff I should know.”
The words ripped through Wilde’s gut.
“No.”
“If I’m Sudden Dance and I’m alive, Rojo won’t have a reason to kill you.”
“No.”
“I’ll get in close. I’ll figure out where Maria is. I’ll get him to tell me. I’ll harass him until he does.”
Wilde’s chest tightened so much that his foot slammed on the brake. Blondie skidded to a to a halt and Wilde killed the engine.
He grabbed Jori-Rey’s arm and squeezed tight.
“We’re not going another foot until you promise to stay out of it and not do anything until and unless I tell you.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Wilde said.
Jori-Rey hardened her face. Then she broke free, got out of the car, slammed the door, flicked the butt on the road and walked off.
“You’re a hundred miles from nowhere,” Wilde shouted.
“I’ve walked farther.”
Wilde sucked the last drag out of his smoke and dropped it over the side. Jori-Rey continued into the distance, every step another act of defiance
Wilde didn’t follow.
He’d let her cool off.
She was a hundred yards away now.
He lit a cigarette.
The woman kept walking.
She didn’t slow, not a bit.
She didn’t turn around.
Stubborn little thing.
Two minutes passed, then two more.
She disappeared around a bend in the road.
Wilde shook his head three minutes later, defeated, and turned the key, having no option except to get her back in the car and try to talk some sense into her.
No sound came.
The starter didn’t crank.
It didn’t make a sound at all.
It mocked him with complete and absolute silence.
Wilde slammed his hand on the dash, then got out and opened the hood. He would have never stopped out here in the middle of nowhere if Jori-Rey hadn’t been so crazy.
It was her fault.
Suddenly a car came from behind and passed.
Wilde’s head was in the engine when it did.
He didn’t even know it was there until it was disappearing up the road.
It was a shinny black coupe.
It was heading for Jori-Rey.
Wilde’s gut churned.
The problem was electrical; he knew that. The starter wasn’t getting any juice. The connections looked good on the battery. Still, there might be hidden corrosion. He wrestled the tool kit out of the trunk, worked the connectors off and gave them a look. They had a green crust on the inside. He filed them clean, reattached them good and tight and tried the key again.
Nothing happened.
He got out and kicked the wheel.
Come on you piece of crap!
29
Day Seven
August 9, 1952
Friday Afternoon
It took ten minuetes for Wilde to figure out what Blondie’s problem was, ten infinitely-long minutes. The cure was to wrench down a loose connection at the starter, but by the time he figured it out and stomped on the gas, Jori-Rey had already been gone forever.
Around the bend, she didn’t appear in sight.
Worse, she didn’t appear up the road, which was fairly straight with a good half-mile visibility.
Wilde pushed the pedal to the floor.
The magnamoss responded.
A mile clicked off, then two.
Jori-Rey couldn’t have walked this far.
Wilde’s chest tightened.
The woman had to be in the coupe, that was the only explanation. She wouldn’t have hitched a ride. She’d been making a point by stomping off but she wouldn’t have gone so far
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