Good King Sauerkraut Read Online Free PDF Page A

the man’s wife as well.
    Karen Dillard was tugging at her husband’s sleeve and saying something quietly to him. Gregory allowed her to lead him away, but not before he’d moved over to King and hissed, “I won’t forget this, you sonuvabitch.”
    Just remembering it made his skin itch. Dennis Cox would have handled it differently, and he’d even have enjoyed the chance to show off his moxie. Dennis would have waited until Gregory was out of earshot before passing on the information. Or, possibly, he would have said nothing at all to Johnson or Thompson and then let Gregory know he’d kept quiet, thus putting SmartSoft in his debt. Yes, that was more like Dennis. King of the manipulators, damn him.
    â€œWell?” Dennis asked. “Have you been listening?”
    â€œOf course I’ve been listening,” King said hastily, wondering what he’d missed. If Dennis knew Gregory Dillard was gunning for him too, his partner would never give in. King’s stomach growled again; he took a hardboiled egg out of his pocket and started peeling it. “I just don’t agree with you, Dennis.”
    Dennis pointed his finger at him, annoying King even further; every time Dennis pointed his finger, his thumb stuck straight up in the air, making his hand look like a gun. “Remember one thing. United they win, divided we lose.”
    â€œSure, no question there, we have to decide who’s to run the project before we go to New York. What I’m not agreeing to is that it should be you.”
    â€œJesus, King, you’re just not plugged in at all, are you? Don’t you understand? Mimi and Gregory aren’t going to let you head the project.”
    King dropped a piece of eggshell on the floor, not noticing. “The last I heard, Warren Osterman was still in charge,” he said tightly, wishing like hell that Dennis would drop the subject.
    â€œBut he’ll base his decision on what he’s told. And if those two tell him you’re not qualified—and they will—he’ll listen. They might, however, accept me as a viable compromise. But they sure as hell won’t if you won’t.”
    â€œThe primary designer has got to be in charge,” King insisted stubbornly. “It’s my right.”
    â€œOh, for Christ’s sake, Sauerkraut, grow up!” Dennis snarled. “Here we are on the brink of losing control of the project and you’re blathering on about your rights . For once in your life, do something practical!”
    King turned rigid; that disparaging nickname Sauerkraut … it had a way of doing that to him, every time. “There’s no point in going on with this,” he said as coldly as he could. “Under no circumstances will I agree to work on a project that’s run by the secondary designer.”
    It was Dennis’s turn to stiffen. King’s emergence as the more inventive designer of the two was not exactly a sore point between them—so long as King didn’t rub it in. “Sleep on it,” Dennis said, his face turning ugly with anger. “We’ll talk again Monday.” He got up and left, kicking a disembodied robot arm out of his way as he went.
    King ate his hardboiled egg without tasting it and peeled another. He’d never asked Dennis where he’d picked up on that label “Sauerkraut”—it had been with King most of his life, and it looked as if he never was going to shake it. Goddammit. The nickname had first come into being when King was still a youngster, back when Walt Kelly’s original Pogo was the most talked-about comic strip in the country. One of the ways Kelly had amused himself was by making up new words to familiar Christmas carols and having his denizens of the Okefenokee sing them once a year. One that Pogo and Churchy La Femme had warbled was Good King Wenceslas , which in Kelly’s whimsical version had started out: “Good King