Dead Men's Harvest Read Online Free PDF

whispered, ‘The boss might believe you, but I don’t think you can be trusted. You’re a psycho who should’ve been sent to the gas chamber. Give me the slightest cause and I’ll put a bullet in your head. In fact . . . I’m looking forward to doing just that.’
    The prisoner’s grunt of laughter was as humourless as a block of granite. He nodded at the plastic spork. ‘I’m just looking forward to the soup.’
    Getz snorted at the bravado, but there was wariness to his movement as he finished unlocking the cuffs.
    ‘So?’ asked the host. ‘We’ll work together on this? We have a deal?’
    The prisoner rubbed the circulation back into his wrists. ‘Of course we do, Mr Hendrickson. We’re friends, OK? You have my word that I won’t harm you.’ The prisoner slowly swung his gaze up towards Getz who was still standing over his right shoulder. ‘But just so we’re all clear . . . I don’t like it when a two-bit punk threatens my life.’
    Getz sucked in air.
    He should have pulled the trigger instead.
    The prisoner’s elbow rammed backwards and found Getz’s groin. Getz folded forward, grimacing in agony. The prisoner snatched at his gun hand, hauling Getz down, so that he sprawled chest first, his right cheek braced against the table. The prisoner stood up, leaning over him, even as he reached for the spork. Then, with the bowl braced against his thumb, he jabbed the rigid handle into Getz’s left eye.
    Getz’s reaction was to scream, to pull away in panic, his hands going to his blinded eye. He was unaware that the prisoner now held his gun. The prisoner reminded him by placing two rounds in his chest and Getz sprawled backwards on the carpet.
    There was the sound of a mass charge, and Hendrickson’s guards began spilling into the room.
    The prisoner looked unaffected by their arrival, choosing instead to study the dead man at his feet. The bullets had pushed chunks of broken bone out of Getz’s chest. He curled a lip in distaste, slinging the gun down beside the corpse. Guns, in his estimation, were for vulgar killers.
    Seeing the gun thrown away, Hendrickson waved off his guards. They all began backing out of the room. The maître d’ also had the sense to leave.
    ‘That was a little unfortunate,’ Hendrickson said. ‘Getz was a good man.’
    ‘He was an asshole.’
    ‘I told you I didn’t want any of my men harmed.’
    ‘And I agree from here on. But if we do this,’ the prisoner said, his ravaged throat pinching the words, ‘we do it as partners. I won’t be anyone’s lap dog and I won’t take shit .’
    They stared at each other. Both men were under no illusions: if he wanted to, the prisoner could kill Hendrickson before any of the guards could come to his assistance.
    ‘Deal,’ said Hendrickson, moving forward and putting out a hand.
    The prisoner took it, sealing the bargain.
    ‘So, partner ?’ asked Hendrickson. ‘You’ve gone by so many names in the past. What do I call you now?’
    The prisoner thought for a moment. ‘There’s only one name I want to be known by,’ he finally said. ‘I am Tubal Cain.’

Chapter 6
    Standing in the centre of the bloodbath, I tried not to ask the question, but I couldn’t stop it: ‘The bodies were mutilated, but were they whole?’
    ‘By whole, you mean were all the parts accounted for?’ asked Hartlaub.
    I closed my eyes. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. Did the murderer take anything? You know what I’m talking about. Trophies?’
    Hartlaub grimaced. It was all the answer I needed, but the last I wanted to hear. ‘They had bones missing,’ I said.
    There were times in my soldiering career when I thought I’d seen the worst that humanity could inflict on another person. I’d seen people maimed, blinded, shot, cut, blown apart, but even those vivid images paled when I tried to imagine what Walter and his bodyguards must have endured. These murders hadn’t been driven by simple expedience. Neither had the mutilation been down