A Taste for Violence Read Online Free PDF Page A

back with his hands empty, he said disgustedly, “Gimmicked to hell and gone. I’ve never seen worse in Juarez or Tia Juana.”
    “What did you expect?” asked the gaunt-faced man. “This is Centerville.” He spoke without rancor. Flatly. As though being in Centerville, Kentucky, explained everything. This was the first time Shayne had heard those three words, “This is Centerville,” spoken, but it wasn’t the last time he was to hear them, always with that flat assumption of dogmatic acceptance. He was to discover that it explained so many things which could not otherwise be explained.
    He shrugged and admitted, “One generally expects to get a little play from his money, even from these one-armed bandits. Thirty or forty per cent return, at least. It’s just good business. To have them pay off a little would encourage the suckers,” he went on irritably. “The people who gimmick these things so tight are just cutting their own throats.”
    The shabby man said, “Folks play ’em anyhow. Here in Centerville, they do. Some play ’em for fun… and some play ’em hopin’.” He trudged over to the desk and bought a package of rough-cut from the three-chinned clerk. He leaned both elbows on the counter and talked to him in a low voice while Shayne strolled to the screen doors and onto the porch where he watched and listened to the heavy traffic on highway 90.
    The noise was deafening. Coal trucks, one after the other, chugged up the steep hill, back-firing like small cannons exploding when they started down the hill on the other side. Cars honking, swerving in and out, struggling to pass before they lost momentum. Of all the places in the world, he decided, the Moderne had picked the noisiest spot for a hotel.
    He couldn’t hear what the men in the lobby were saying. He realized that they were discussing him, but he didn’t care. He was wondering whether Lucy would be able to sleep tonight, with the heavy trucks shaking the very earth, the horns, the backfiring and the chugging.
    Walking to the end of the porch, he saw Lucy standing in front of her cabin, looking around. He long-legged it across the rocky grounds, calling to her and waving. When he reached her he took both her hands and pushed her away at arm’s length. She had changed into a blue summer frock with short sleeves falling in soft folds over her upper arms, the bodice accentuating her slim waist and hips, then falling into graceful widening gores around the calves of her shapely legs. Her lips were freshly rouged, her face glowing and unpowdered.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “I tried to powder, but it just stuck in cakes, so I wiped it off.”
    Shayne’s eyes twinkled. He said, “You don’t need powder.”
    “Have I kept you waiting?”
    “Not long. How’s your cabin?”
    “Hot as hell… when I left.” She chuckled, looking up at him.
    “Such language,” Shayne chided. “So was mine.”
    “Did you phone Mr. Roche?” She tucked her arm in his and they walked over to the car which was parked in front of number nine.
    “I called, but he wasn’t in.” Shayne frowned. He didn’t tell her about the obtrusive manner in which some man had tried to find out what his business was with Roche.
    They got in the car. Shayne backed around and headed toward the highway. It was easy to edge into the traffic on this side. The sun was sinking beyond the range of mountains, but the heat was stifling, giving no sign whatever of abating. The main highway was jammed with traffic, cars stalled trying to get up the hill without momentum.
    When they came to a turn-off at the foot of the hill, Shayne said, “I’m going to take this road. It must be the old one leading into Centerville.”
    “Are… you sure, Michael?” She laid her hand lightly on his bare arm.
    “Pretty sure.”
    The old road was free of traffic. It curved to the left continuously, and they could see the lights coming on in the village below. Dark came quickly