Читать книгу White Hot Pistol - Eric Beetner - Страница 8

There are two things that you do not want to interrupt Sheriff Brian Thorpe in the act of doing – his drinking and his sleeping.

When the phone rang, it was three forty-nine A.M. Brian started his day in the short distance between surly and grumpy on the best of days with ample sleep the night before. He palmed the phone receiver in his fist, which generously wrapped around the plastic casing. His knuckles were thick around it, like walnuts sprouting hair.