Deep Winter Read Online Free PDF Page B

know that, Carl?”
    Carl just stared at him with his big possum eyes.
    â€œSay it. Say ‘I’m your bitch.’” He applied some more pressure to the folds of fat on Carl’s neck.
    â€œI ain’t saying that shit.” Carl winced in discomfort.
    Sokowski kept squeezing. “Say it.”
    Carl tried to pull away, but Sokowski held him tight.
    â€œYou my bitch, Carl?”
    â€œFine. Jesus. I’m your bitch.”
    Sokowski broke out into a wide grin and released him. “Shit. I had you going, didn’t I? You sorry piece of shit.” Sokowski laughed hard. Carl, not so much.
    Sokowski kept laughing as he walked toward the front of the barn. “Remember what I said. Don’t overwater this shit.”
    â€œWhere you going?” Carl asked, rubbing at his neck.
    Sokowski finished the last of the Wild Turkey and tossed the bottle at Carl, who had to duck to avoid being hit on the side of the head. Sokowski grinned and gave him a salute off his deputy hat. “Protect and serve, motherfucker. Protect and serve.”
    Carl forced a weak smile as Sokowski slipped out of the barn, then picked up the watering hose and squeezed the nozzle.

Danny
    D anny had to keep his eyes nearly closed from the sheer white intensity. He kept his chin tucked against his chest and wore a heavy coat, sweat trickling down his back despite the bitter-cold temperature. He didn’t know how far out of town he was, but the road’s sharp incline was taking its toll. His frosted breath billowed out in large, colorless clouds, drifting up and into the gray Pennsylvania country sky. Thick, gnarled limbs of birch trees hung low and heavy with snow over the road, creating a blinding white landscape.
    A few inches of fresh powder covered most of Turkey Path Road, which wasn’t much more than an old dirt path that wound its way up Lime Hill. Other than a few hunting cabins, no one actually lived along the ridge. Rocky terrain ran steep, making it hard to build on. Snowplows didn’t get out this way much, so the snow piled up high all around him. A truck passed him earlier, big four-wheel-drive tires covered with chains, clanking up a storm.
    Danny’s boots squeaked against the snow and ice. It was nice and peaceful. Real quiet. He could hear a hawk cawing from up in the sky. He looked for the bird, but the clouds were too thick. His toes were getting cold, his socks felt wet. Must be a hole in the bottom of his boot. He’d have to save some money before he could go and buy a brand-new pair. He tried not to think about the cold and kept plodding forward.
    He heard the sound of children’s laughter up ahead of him and over the crest of the hill. He wasn’t far now. A few more minutes. His stomach rumbled, complaining of hunger. Danny figured he should have eaten lunch before coming out all this way, but after breakfast his stomach hurt real bad, as if someone punched him in the belly.
    He didn’t like the deputy one bit. He knew he wasn’t supposed to think bad of other folks, but the deputy had always picked on him ever since he was a kid. He still remembered the first time Mike Sokowski had beaten him up. It was over at Pickett’s Bowling Alley.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    D anny had just turned eight. He was in the arcade with a couple of nickels clutched in his palm, watching the lights blink yellow and red on the Gottlieb Spot Bowler woodrail pinball game. Mr. Pickett had just bought the pinball game and placed it between the Shuffle Alley and the jukebox. Danny played Shuffle Alley a few times but didn’t like getting sawdust all over his hands. He stood mesmerized by the newness of the Spot Bowler game. Everything about the pinball game drew him closer, like a kid to a candy counter. The flashing bumpers, the flippers, the miniature bowling pins lit up like candles, and five steel balls about the size of walnuts ready toknock down all the