Читать книгу A Cold Day In Hell - Stella Cameron - Страница 11

Bucky Smith turned his head, tried to focus. Flashing lights. He fucking hated flashing lights. They never meant anythin’ good, or they never had for him.

He hated this town. If he hadn’t just about run out of places to be, he’d already be gone.

Cops driving down the side of Ona’s.

So what? Nothing to do with him. He just had to take a leak and he’d be out of here.

Nobody gave a shit about him. Never had.

Would you look at that? He was in the damn kitchen. What he wanted was the can, the can, dammit.

Where was everyone back here? Yeah, Ona’s Out Back. Tea room, she called it. Shit. He could smell the booze even if the place was empty. Empty, not a single piece of ass sippin’ tea.

The cop lights were out back.

Out back of Out Back.

Damn, he ought to be a poet or somethin’. He needed that can and another drink. If anyone was still workin’ around here.

The fryer smelled good. All those leftover bits of food bubblin’ in the fat. Best part of this nowhere, the food.

Bucky turned back, frowned. He must have passed the can on the way in here.

The side door to the outside slammed open and a guy came in—fast. Bucky turned his head the other way, blinked to look at him. Just a guy in a wet coat.

“You lost?” Bucky said. “Same’s me. Shit. You lookin’ for the can, too?”

The guy just stared at him, his hair dark and sopped, stuck to his face.

Bucky raised his palms. “Friendly, ain’t you? Well, fuck you.” He stumbled toward the passageway to Out Front.

He didn’t see the hand coming.

Fingers dug into his windpipe and he gagged, took a swing at the face that wouldn’t stay still. He clawed at the man’s chest.

Deeper the fingertips gouged. Bucky’s mouth opened. A shove and he fell backward. His skull hit something hard and he felt his bladder let go.

All he heard was the sizzle of the boiling fat.