Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island Read Online Free PDF

he’d learn who.
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    He’d done everything right and it felt good. Almost as good now as actually doing it. He sat in the big chair and realized he was smiling again. Even after three weeks he still felt, in his hands and arms, a bit of the satisfaction. Kid was a big shot, bruiser hockey player type, thought he could handle himself. But no, didn’t happen, not against him and his bat. Did that ever feel weird, good kind of weird like he was born for it, bashing the kid with the bat, way the wood went slap into soft skin and flesh, hard where it hit bone. He could feel the rib-cage cracks happening, plunk of the bat and a little pop fly fell in safe right between the ribs, crack of the bat at the forearm and thigh and the breaks were sharp singles, then a coupla doubles, clean into the outfield, out to the warning track—that was good, warning track—and that big swing when he got the kid in the head it had to be a heavy-duty man-alive home run—over the fence, into the woods, outta there.
    And hey, he’d watch the exchange, grass for cash, seven thou, who’d’a guessed the kid coulda got that out of them. Seven thou that didn’t have to be reported. And specially not to the boss. Seven thou, no sharing. Who’d’a thought. Well, six now that Charlie had taken that pot.
    He snapped open the can and drank down half the beer. Holy delicious on a hot day, best thing in the world. He’d kinda like to do it again, with a bat like that. Not the same bat, that bat was ashes now. Burned, just like the boss would want it. Had to burn his T-shirt and jeans too, good thing he’d brought others, but not the shoes, they were clean. Lotsa blood on the bat. And inside the plastic bag he’d stuck it in, after. Woulda looked funny, anybody saw him hiking through the woods, baseball bat in his hands. Hey, you got a bat? won’t find no pitchers here! Smart, bagging the bat. And the mask. Musta looked weird to the kid, seeing a pink bear. Look out for the bear swinging the bat! Except nobody saw him. Only the kid with the seven thou. Friggin’ pink bear in the woods. The bat and the mask, ashes to ashes. If he ever got to do all that again, he’d need a new bat. Mask too—different mask. He had lots of masks.
    He finished the beer and went inside. Another beer and a pack of cards. Waiting to see what was dealt, figuring how to make it work for you. Any kind of gambling for that matter. And with that seven thou he’d been able to pay off half his gambling debts. Hah!
    He sipped beer and belched. Nothing much to do till the boss started talking about all the problems, the boss’d sure do that. Soon, too. Figure how to solve the problems, yeah. He wondered what it’d be next. He mixed the cards three times, put the pack down on the table, and cut it once. Placed the lower half on top of the upper. Set up for solitaire—good draw: black king, red seven, ace of hearts, the two red deuces, red queen, six of spades. He sipped his beer. Time for the ferry, the evening at Saddleman’s, always a few guys there ready for a game. He finished his beer, cleaned up the front of the cabin, washed his face and hands, water-combed his brown hair flat down to his ears, and set out for the afternoon chores.

TWO
    Two cars pulled onto the Powell River Queen behind Jason Cooper’s Corolla. There was still room for one more. “See?” said Jason. “We got on.”
    One tall and one stocky ferry worker waited till exactly noon. Tall slid the guard across the rear of the ship while Stocky pressed the button on an electronic switch that raised the last three feet of the steel boarding ramp to create a protective barrier. Slowly the ferry pulled away from the dock. Out of Quathiaski Cove and into the burbling water of Discovery Passage.
    Tim left the car and stood in the rear, in warm sun. He looked back at the island he left every