A Hole in the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page A

women eyed each other over drinks.
    One man sat alone. His name was Joseph Capelli. He wore a knit cap pulled down over his ears, a black sweater, and military-style wool pants. A pistol rode in the shoulder holster under his left arm. His shotgun was within easy reach, too, as was the Marksman rifle he wore strapped to a pack frame.
    Capelli was finishing a huge steak as a waitress delivered a second mug of home-brewed beer. She had blond hair, steely blue eyes, and was wearing a short skirt. The latter being a surefire tip-getter. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
    “No. What do I owe you?” Capelli’s voice was hard and inflectionless.
    “A box of .22s, five twelve-gauge shotgun shells, or half a dozen rifle rounds,” she said in a singsong voice. “The boss prefers 30-06 cartridges, but 30-30s are okay, and he’s willing to consider .303s.”
    Capelli’s sage-green Type N-3 military parka was hanging on the back of his chair. He slipped a hand into a pocket, felt for the bottle, and pulled it out. “How ’bout this? One hundred tablets of Bayer aspirin. Never opened.”
    The waitress accepted the bottle and examined it more closely. “How do I know they’re real? The boss’ll take it out of my pay if they aren’t.”
    “They’re real,” he assured her. “And so is this.” The lipstick appeared as if by magic. It was one of six tubes he had come across in a previously looted five-and-dime. A look of greed appeared on the woman’s face as the bottle of aspirin went into the sack that hung at her side and the bribe disappeared into her bra. “Thanks, mister.” Then she was gone.
    Having paid for dinner, it was time for Capelli to enjoy his second mug of home-brewed beer. It was full-bodied,and reasonably smooth, but a little too sweet for his taste. Capelli’s thoughts were interrupted as a little boy in a plaid coat dashed into the room and went over to speak with the man behind the bar. The bartender had slicked-back hair and two days of salt-and-pepper stubble. He listened, nodded, and rang a silver bell, which made a gentle, tinkling sound. “Quiet! Two Hunter Drones are sniffing around outside.”
    The Chimeran machines could detect heat. Capelli knew that. But sound? That wasn’t entirely clear. It was a good idea to play it safe, though. So all of the customers were careful to minimize their movements, and keep their voices down, until the bartender rang the silver bell again.
    That was when Capelli heard a rustling sound and turned to find that a big, bearlike man was standing next to his table. “Mr. Capelli? My name’s Locke. Alvin Locke. Mind if I sit down?”
    Capelli opened his mouth to reply, but the other man had already dumped his pack on the floor and taken a seat. “I’m looking for a runner,” Locke announced. “And people tell me that you’re one of the best.”
    “I’m still alive.”
    Locke chuckled. “And that’s a mighty fine recommendation. Especially these days.”
    Locke opened his mouth as if to continue, but stopped when he heard a low and very menacing growl. He turned to discover a large dog looking up at him with teeth bared. The animal looked a lot like a German shepherd but had a Mohawk-like ridge of fur that ran the length of his spine. “Is that
your
dog?” Locke inquired nervously.
    “Nope. Rowdy belongs to himself.”
    “Then why is he growling at me?”
    “Because you’re sitting in his seat.”
    Locke got up, circled around the table, and sat down.
    After jumping up onto the vacated chair, the dog sat on his haunches and yawned. “What’s so special about that particular chair?” Locke wanted to know.
    “I’m right-handed,” Capelli replied, tossing a chunk of steak up into the air. With an audible snap, Rowdy intercepted the piece of meat and gulped it down.
    Locke grinned. “Makes sense. So, like I was saying, I need a runner.”
    Capelli nodded. The U.S. Mail was a thing of the past, so anyone who wanted to send a letter or