Devil's Kiss by William W. Johnstone Page B

truck?”
    Sam did, around the lot, then said, “Make me a deal, Peter.”
    The salesman had looked at Sam’s Mercury while the minister was driving the truck. He figured for a moment, then handed Sam a piece of paper. “That’s the best I can do, Sam.”
    Sam glanced at the figures. “Fine, I’ll take it.” And the pickup was his. He smiled as the words “for better or for worse” entered his mind.
    Jimmy was thinking: it’s a shame. A nice man like Sam Balon, with a wife that’s running around on him. With an elder in his own church, too. He almost told Sam to go out and get a big stick, go home, and beat his wife’s butt.
    Instead, he said, “Sure is something about John Benton. How old was he?”
    â€œFifty, I think. Have you heard when the funeral will be?”
    â€œTwo o’clock Sunday. I heard the council just appointed Jimmy chief of police. Tough way to get a promotion. It’s odd, though.”
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œWell—it’s a small town, Sam. News travels fast. I heard about the trouble at Jane Ann’s last night, and about John firing George Best.”
    So?”
    â€œWalter Addison just hired George this afternoon. Made him a county deputy. John wouldn’t have liked that.”
    Everything is beginning to add up. “Let’s sign the papers, Peter.”
    Fifteen minutes later, the men stood by Sam’s newly acquired pickup, chatting. The reception inside the dealership had been cool. None of the other employees had bothered speaking to Sam, and their looks were sullen.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with those people in there?” Sam asked.
    â€œI don’t know, Sam, but it’s sure embarrassing. They’ve been acting funny for a couple of weeks. Now they treat me as if I’m not around. I’m just ignored. It’s getting worse each day.”
    Sam knew Peter was a devout Catholic, but he wasn’t sure about his fellow workers. He didn’t know how to ask without being obvious about it.
    â€œMaybe they resent your church work, Peter?”
    Peter’s look was thoughtful. “It’s funny you should say that, Sam. A lot of those guys in there—the women, too—used to be good church workers. Different churches, of course, but they all went to church. Then, I guess, oh, maybe two-three months ago, one by one they started drifting away from their church. Now none of them attend services. As a matter of fact, they belittle religion; make fun of it. I don’t like that, Sam. I’ve noticed something else, too, for the past few weeks or so, everyone of them show up for work on Friday wearing those funny-looking medallions around their necks. You’ve seen them? Fad, I suppose. Probably started out in California with all this rock and roll music.”
    Don’t count on that, Sam thought, remembering the medallion his wife wore about her neck—every day. “Memphis,” he said.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry,” Sam smiled. “I said Memphis. I think rock and roll began in Memphis, Tennessee. But I believe it was a New York City disc jockey who coined the term rock and roll.”
    â€œYou like rock and roll, Sam?” doubt in his voice.
    â€œNo,” Sam laughed. “Not very much of it. You have a cigarette, Peter?”
    â€œSure. I didn’t know you smoked, Sam.” He held out a package of Lucky Strikes.
    â€œI don’t very often,” Sam bent his head to take the light from Peter’s Zippo. “Habit I picked up in Korea.”
    â€œHey! You were in Korea? I was in the service, too, but not in Korea. I was Navy. You?”
    â€œArmy. Special troops. We were known as UNPIK.”
    Peter whistled. “Yeah, I heard about you guys. Guerrilla fighters. Rough outfit. How long were you in Korea?”
    â€œToo long. ’Bout sixteen months.”
    â€œYou saw your share.