Dead Girl Moon Read Online Free PDF

track that spring, shot and discus, but didn’t do either well enough to earn a letter. Did get to see the lineman, Cunneen, in action. The big kid lifted more weight than anyone else in the training room and his effort and strength paid off. He usually won the shot at meets, won or placed in the discus. The other guys deferred to him, gave him a lot of room, tried to make him happy. The king and his court.
    He generally ignored Mick, referred to him as The Zip, and was only civil when coaches were present. At the end of most practices Cunneen was joined by Tim and an older man, clearly an ex-jock, for what looked to Mick like football drills. The three of them laughing, chumming around, made Mick jealous. If he played well enough to start next year, maybe somebody would pay that kind of attention to him.
    JJ played school softball. Okay bat, great glove, and big enough to block the plate. No wonder he’d thought she was a guy. Mick was surprised how aggressive she could be on the field, given how quiet she was in class. Not your ordinary girl, this JJ. She was good, but they gave the MVP to a blond junior pitcher. Grace and Mick met at JJ’s games when his own practices didn’t interfere.
    When JJ had no game, Mick loved walking home after track practice. Low sun on the nearby mountains. The fresh breeze off the river carrying the scent of new hay from ranches east of town. He’d be showered, clean, tired from the strength machines and the three-mile jog that coaches demanded from most of the weight men. Home, he was thinking. Portage makes a good home. He didn’t hear the car pull up beside him, didn’t notice until the doors closed.
    Three guys joined him on the sidewalk. Looked a little old for high school. Had probably been jocks a year or two ago. Now they looked a little softer, like maybe they drank more than they played.
    The smallest one stepped in front of him. “Hear you got a big mouth.”
    Mick didn’t say anything.
    “Think you’re tough.” The little guy kicked for Mick’s nuts.
    Mick caught his foot. Lifted and the guy toppled. Mick didn’t see the punch that got him in the neck or the foot that jammed him behind the knee. He was down and getting hurt. Couldn’t pick up the blows, covered up while they kicked him. It didn’t last long. At least he didn’t think so. A boot to the back of the head made him woozy.
    When he got to his knees, blood dripped on the sidewalk. Nose or lip, Mick couldn’t tell which. The sore knee made it hard to stand. Took him a minute. He was stiff but he could walk. Slow at first, then better. By the time he reached the studio, he was good enough. He washed up, fixed his mouth with superglue, butterfly-bandaged the gash on his forehead. Couldn’t fix the black eye.
    He left his dad a note saying he’d gone to the library. Didn’t want to hear the words of wisdom. “Wait till they’re not looking and bash their heads in.” Not much help, really, if you wanted to keep living in this town. Was this payback for punching Tim Cassel? For not kowtowing to Cunneen? Or was it just another kind of initiation to a small cowboy town where new people paid dues, one way or the other.
    It didn’t matter. Mick healed quick. After that, the school year moved along without major trouble. No cops in the yard. No red car. No more fights. No sign that hell might break through the earth’s crust and melt Mick’s life. Well, one thing. Early May. Quickly forgotten.
    Getting ready to leave for school Mick heard loud voices. Never a good sign. He eased out of his place, located the argument on Dovey’s porch. A black Lincoln Town Car sat just to the side of her steps and a large man with a blond crew cut was pointing his finger at Dovey and shouting. Mick’s first thought was some kind of shakedown. Dovey? Loan? Gambling debts? Not likely. But what then? Who could be trying to lean on this woman and why? The car had no logo, no insignia, the guy was wearing dark pants and a blue