Deep Winter Read Online Free PDF Page A

mouth, but he’d be goddamned if she didn’t have a rocking little body. Nice tits. Her ass might be getting a bit wide, but not bad nonetheless. Helluva lay, too. She got a few drinks in her and all bets were off. She liked being ridden hard, just the way he liked to dish it out. And once she got those fingernails digging in his back, she’d leave some pretty deep scratches.
    Mindy had broken off their on-again, off-again relationship yet again, but she would come crawling back like she always did. You satisfy a woman in the sack and she always comes back, begging for more. And he would take her back. Why not? He had fucked a couple dozen women over the years, but she was by far the best, hands down. He would pile on the sweetness for a while, and they would be back in between the sheets in no time.
    As he stepped out of the truck, a contented little whistle slipped from his thin lips. “Camptown Races” was a tune that always stuck in his head. Camptown was a piece-of-crap town ten miles outside of Wyalusing. He hated the town and the shitheads that lived there—a bunch of old retired buzzards that thought that they were better than everybody else with their stupid yard gnomes and bird-baths out on the front lawn—but he liked the song. He kept whistling as he headed toward the barn with the purposeful stride of a man with life by the tail. Before he opened the barn doors, he noticed the green Pinto parked off to the side of the building.
    â€œGoddamn moron.” He flicked his cigarette into the snow, then stepped inside.
    All the windows in the barn were tented with thick black plastic tarp, making it nice and warm inside. Probably around seventy degrees or so. A dozen bright fluorescents hung from the ceiling, and in place of a herd of cattle a large crop of marijuana plants basked in the regulated light. Sokowski took off his jacket, dropped it to the floor but kept his deputy hat cocked back on his head.
    â€œHey, asswipe, I told you to park your piece of shit behind the barn, not in plain view from the road. Jesus. How many times I got to tell you? And what the hell did I say about locking the fucking door? Christ, you’re thick as a stump.”
    A short fireplug of a man, soft and fat, nearly bald, and much younger than he appeared, looked up from watering the marijuana plants at the opposite end of the barn. The man’s small face narrowed and pinched forward at the nose, two big ears stuck out on either side of his head, and his eyes appeared to be too big for their sockets. He looked like a possum.
    â€œThought I did. Shit.”
    â€œCarl, thinking and doing for you is a wide fucking gap.”
    Carl smiled and nodded, not sure exactly what Sokowski meant by it. “Get me any breakfast? I’m about near starved.”
    â€œShit, Carl. With all that fat around your waist, it’d take a goddamned month for you to starve to death.”
    Carl glanced down at his gut and chuckled. His big eyes as red as beets.
    â€œChrist. You been smoking already this morning?” Sokowski asked as he moved through and inspected his crop.
    Carl shrugged and kept watering. “Just a hit or two.”
    Sokowski uncapped the bottle of Wild Turkey and took another tug. He admired a lush plant. Smiled fondly as he caressed one of the large crystalline buds. “Northern Lights are looking mighty fine.”
    Carl laughed another dumb laugh. “Smokes mighty fine, too.”
    Sokowski gave him a withering look. “We’re supposed to be selling the shit, not smoking it, assfuck.”
    Carl was stoned and found this very pretty damn funny. “Hell, Mike. It’s called quality control. Just wanted to make sure that our stuff is good. We gotta stand by our product.” He chuckled at himself a little more.
    â€œMy ass, motherfucker.”
    Carl found this funny, too.
    Sokowski went to a long wooden worktable lined with carefully weighed and wrapped plastic