Hit Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

skirt and a sort of cowgirl blouse with piping and embroidery on it.
    “Old Hank,” Keller said, to say something.
    “I’m June.”
    “Call me Tex.”
    “Tex!” Her laughter came in a sort of yelp. “When did anybody ever call you Tex, tell me that?”
    “Well, nobody has,” he admitted, “but that’s not to say they never will.”
    “Where are you from, Tex? No, I’m sorry, I can’t call you that, it sticks in my throat. If you want me to call you Tex you’re going to have to start wearing boots.”
    “You see by my outfit that I’m not a cowboy.”
    “Your outfit, your accent, your haircut. If you’re not an easterner, then I’m a virgin.”
    “I’m from Connecticut.”
    “I knew it.”
    “My name’s Dale.”
    “Well, you could keep that. If you were fixing to be a cowboy, I mean. You’d have to change the way you dress and talk and comb your hair, but you could hang on to Dale. There another name that goes with it?”
    In for a penny, in for a pound. “Whitlock,” he said.
    “Dale Whitlock. Shoot, that’s pretty close to perfect. You tell ’em a name like that, you got credit down at the Agway in a New York minute. Wouldn’t even have to fill out a form. You married, Dale?”
    What was the right answer? She was wearing a ring herself, and the jukebox was now playing yet another cheating song.
    “Not in Martingale,” he said.
    “Oh, I like that,” she said, eyes sparkling. “I like the whole idea of regional marriage. I am married in Martingale, but we’re not in Martingale. The town line’s Front Street.”
    “In that case,” he said, “maybe I could buy you a drink.”
    “You easterners,” she said. “You’re just so damn fast.”
    There had to be a catch.
    Keller didn’t do too badly with women. He got lucky once in a while. But he didn’t have the sort of looks that made heads turn, nor had he made seduction his life’s work. Some years ago he’d read a book called How to Pick Up Girls, filled with opening lines that were guaranteed to work. Keller thought they were silly. He was willing to believe they would work, but he was not able to believe they would work for him.
    This woman, though, had hit on him before he’d had time to become aware of her presence. This sort of thing happened, especially when you were dealing with a married woman in a bar where all they played were cheating songs. Everybody knew what everybody else was there for, and nobody had time to dawdle. So this sort of thing happened, but it never seemed to happen to him, and he didn’t trust it.
    Something would go wrong. She’d call home and find out her kid was running a fever. Her husband would walk in the door just as the jukebox gave out with “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille.” She’d be overcome by conscience, or rendered unconscious by the drink Keller had just bought her.
    “I’d say my place or yours,” she said, “but we both know the answer to that one. What’s your room number?” Keller told her. “You go on up,” she said. “I won’t be a minute. Don’t start without me.”
    He brushed his teeth, splashed on a little aftershave. She wouldn’t show, he told himself. Or she’d expect to be paid, which would take a little of the frost off the pumpkin. Or her husband would turn up and they’d try to work some variation of the badger game.
    Or she’d be sloppy drunk, or he’d be impotent. Or something.
    “Whew,” she said. “I don’t guess you need boots after all. I’ll call you Tex or Slim or any damn thing you want me to, just so you come when you’re called. How long are you in town for, Dale?”
    “I’m not sure. A few days.”
    “Business, I suppose. What sort of business are you in?”
    “I work for a big corporation,” he said. “They fly me over to look into situations.”
    “Sounds like you can’t talk about it.”
    “Well, we do a lot of government work,” he said. “So I’m really not supposed to.”
    “Say no more,” she said.