Dead Mann Walking Read Online Free PDF Page B

had two things hidden there, both contraband: a little vial of green liquid and a Walther P99. The vial’s its own story. For now, I took out the gun, a nice combo of stopping power and low recoil. Too little of the former, whatever I shot would still be coming at me. Too much of the latter, I could tear my arm off by firing the damn thing. It’s totally illegal for a chak to own a weapon, but you never know when breaking the law might suddenly become the best idea in the world.
    â€œYou’re doing this because of the money?” Misty wasn’t finished yet.
    â€œPartly,” I said, checking over the gun. “It’s also something to do. I’m curious about this Boyle guy. Being curious is good. Better than watching TV.”
    Satisfied he’d perform, I shoved Walther between the back of my pants and the small of my back.
    I turned to Misty, looked in her eyes, and touched her cheek. The last of her tears, a big one, rolled onto my finger. The dead flesh sopped it up like a sponge. “We have to be realists, right? We have to be. More than likely, I’ll be back this time. But do me a favor, Misty? If and when I do go, make sure my head’s totaled. Crushed or something. Not just a D-cap. And definitely not fire.”
    â€œI hate it when you talk like this, Hess.”
    I forced my lips into a smile. It hurts to do that, ever since I died, but I had to show her I was still in here. “Me, too. But I’ll feel better if you promise. So?”
    â€œI promise.”
    I turned her head side to side, studying her a bit. Her cheeks were so hollow when we met, from the drugs, that her face had no affect. Now it was easy to see how worried she was. I was her lifeline. I really was risking both of us. “You’re looking better. Try not to worry too much. I like to think I’m not an idiot. And you heard the big baby. We’ve got a one–in-four shot at a quiet night.”
    I took a hundred from the envelope and held it out to her. “If you want to keep busy, you can get some more bleach and go down to Cruger. Flat-headed guy there has some finger rot. Can’t miss him if you follow your nose.”
    She eyed the bill. Depression meant one thing for me, something else for her.
    â€œGot anything smaller?” she asked.
    I looked in the envelope. “Nope.”
    â€œToo much temptation. Keep it. I still got some bleach left. Should be enough for some fingers. We’ll go pick up some more when you get back. And you’d better get back in exactly as many pieces as you are now or I’m taking that envelope, buying a shitload of crack, and smoking it until I get to see God face-to-face so I can demand an apology from his almighty ass for this fucked-up life. You got that?”
    I gave her a salute and headed for the door. “Deal. Say hi for me.”
    She tossed me my cell. “Call him yourself.”
    Â 
    There’s better than the Bones, but Fort Hammer’s generally crappy. The city used to have a manufacturing base and a big insurance industry, but when hard times hit, it was just like that little old lady on the commercial who’d fallen and couldn’t get up. You couldn’t blame anyone here. The citizens were all doing exactly the same things we did during the boom years. But sometimes it rains, and sometimes it rains hard.
    These days Fort Hammer’s two big claims to fame are one of the highest murder rates in the country and the highest execution rate. Cheers went up in bars across town when we pushed ahead of Texas. One town, ahead of Texas.
    That’s where the rest of us chakz come from, myself included: the death penalty.
    It makes perfect sense, as long as you don’t think about it too much. The same year they started ripping the dead, improvements in DNA testing revealed an embarrassing number of wrongful executions. Ethically, the biggest argument against the death penalty was that it could never be