High Hunt by David Eddings Page B

mug of beer, looking out over the water. “I used to come up here when I was a kid and just look at it. Weren’t many houses or anything up here then.”
    Somehow I couldn’t picture Sloane as a kid.
    â€œI made up my mind then that someday I was gonna live up here,” he went on. “Took me a long time, but I made it.”
    â€œWas it worth it?” I couldn’t resist asking him. I didn’t like him much right then.
    â€œEvery lousy, scratching, money-grubbing, fuckin’ minute of it,” he said with a strange intensity. “Sometimes I sit up here lookin’ out at it, and I just break out laughing at all the shit I had to crawl through to get here.”
    â€œWe all do funny things,” I said. Now he had me confused.
    â€œI’d have never made it without Claudia,” he said. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”
    â€œShe’s a real lady,” I said.
    â€œShe was hoppin’ tables in a beer bar when I met her,” he said. “She had it even then. I can meet guys and swing deals and all, but she’s the one who puts it all together and makes it go. She’s one in a million, Dan.”
    â€œI can tell that,” I said. How the hell do you figure a guy like Sloane?
    â€œHey, you bastards,” Jack called to us, “this is a party , not a private little conflab. Come on back here.”
    â€œJust showin’ off my scenery,” Cal said. The two of us went back to the keg.
    Sloane went over and pawed around under one of the shrubs. “As soon as you guys get all squared away,” he said, “I’ve got a little goodie here for you.” He pulled out a half-gallon jug of clear liquid.
    â€œOh, shit!” Jack said. “Auburn tanglefoot. Goddamn Sloane and his pop-skull moonshine.”
    â€œGuaranteed to have been aged at least two hours.” Sloane giggled.
    â€œI thought the government men had busted up all those stills years ago,” Mike said.
    â€œNo way,” Jack said. “Auburn’d blow away if it wasn’t anchored down by all those pot stills.”
    McKlearey got up and took the jug from Sloane. He opened it and sniffed suspiciously. “You sure this stuff is all right?”
    â€œPure, one-hundred-per-cent rotgut,” Sloane said.
    â€œI mean, they don’t spike it with wood alcohol, do they?” There was a note of worry in Lou’s voice. “Sometimes they do that. Makes a guy go blind. His eyes fall out.”
    â€œWhat’s the sense of poisoning your customers?” Sloane asked. “You ain’t gonna get much repeat business that way.”
    â€œI’ve heard that they do it sometimes, is all,” McKlearey said. “They spike it with wood alcohol, or they use an old car radiator instead of that copper coil—then the booze gets taintedwith all that gunk off the solder. Either way it makes a guy go blind. Fuckin’ eyes fall right out.”
    â€œBounce around on the floor like marbles, huh, Lou?” Jack said. “I can see it now. McKlearey’s eyes bouncin’ off across the patio with him chasin’ ’em.” He laughed harshly. He knew about Lou and Margaret, all right. There was no question about that now.
    â€œI don’t think I want any,” McKlearey said, handing the jug back to Sloane.
    â€œOld Lou’s worried about his baby-blue eyeballs,” Jack said, rubbing it in.
    â€œI just don’t want any. OK, Alders?”
    â€œWell, I’m gonna have some,” Mike said, reaching for the jug. “I cut my teeth on Auburn moonshine. My eyes might get a little loose now and then, but they sure as hell don’t fall out.” He rolled the jug back over his arm professionally and took a long belt.
    â€œNow, there’s an old moonshine drinker,” Jack said. “Notice the way he handles that jug.”
    We passed the jug around, and each of us tried to