The Crash of Hennington Read Online Free PDF Page A

Accountant. Never let it be said that Thomas Banyon lacked a darkling sense of humor.
3) And all of this was true because, at age forty-one, with her youngest child fifteen years old, Jacki still produced, on a daily basis, nearly two pints of breast milk, and there were a surprising number of men who would pay a surprising amount of money for just such a delicacy. Thomas Banyon was not a man to let potential income go unexploited.
    Her phone rang. Alone in her office, she mouthed an expletive.
    —Hello?
    —Jacks.
    Jacki frowned, but the Forum was already dribbling its way through her veins and she began to feel her consternation melt away, butter in boiling water.
    —Yes, Mr Banyon?
    —I have a clip for you tonight. Are you up for it?
    As if there was a choice involved.
    —Of course, Mr Banyon. It would be my pleasure.
    —It’s Councilman Wiggins. You remember the good Councilman, don’t you?
    Remember? She had to put salve on her nipples for nearly a week after the good Councilman displayed a tendency for toothiness. This memory too, though, floated away into the shimmering mirage of the drug.
    —Certainly, Mr Banyon. What time?
    —Say ten?
    —All right. Ten it is. Usual place?
    —Usual place.
    —I’ll be there.
    —I truly appreciate that, Jacks. I’ve got some really wonderful merchandise here that I had been hoping to share with you. I want to thank you for giving me the opportunity.
    —I’m grateful for your indulgence, Mr Banyon.
    —You’re a good girl, Jacks.
    He clicked off. Jacki closed her eyes. She was deep into butterscotch warmth now and glorious waves of light and color filled her head. The anguish, thank the heavens, was winding its way clockwise down the drain, spiraling blissfully out of her presence.
    God bless Forum. Forum’s name be praised.

9. Hospitality.
    —Mr Noth?
    Eugene Markham knocked again. After a lengthy pause, Tybalt ‘Jon’ Noth opened the door. He was wearing one of the Solari’s bathrobes. His hair was wet, and he held a towel in his hands. Still, he smiled when he saw Eugene.
    —Eugene! What can I do you for?
    —I was just checking to see if everything is to your satisfaction.
    —Slow day for you then?
    —Yes.
    —And you still have yet to manage a proper smile.
    Eugene almost smiled at this, but not quite.
    —That was pitiful, Eugene. And enough of ‘Mr Noth'. I told you to call me Jon.
    —All right, then. Jon. Is everything to your satisfaction?
    —I’ve only been here long enough for a shower, but the bathroom fulfills most accepted definitions of nice.
    Jon smiled again, more warmly this time. Maybe he was a preacher. Maybe that was it.
    —Are you some kind of preacher?
    —How is it that I just know this surliness is something you’re trying to overcome and that there’s a perfectly personable individual in there somewhere struggling to get out rather than just plain old dour Eugene?
    —You smile a lot, is all I mean.
    —Your perception is bizarre, Eugene, but somehow, perhaps accidentally, it may even be correct. Interesting.
    Eugene blinked. He wasn’t sure if he was being agreed with.
    —So …
    —I have been called a preacher in my time, Eugene, but even then, it could have been wrong. As for now, definitely not.
    Eugene blinked again.
    —'Why don’t you come on in and talk for a while, Eugene’ is what you’re waiting for me to say, yes?
    —I don’t mean in any male-male sex kind of way, but—
    —I didn’t think you did. Why don’t you come on in and talk for a while, Eugene?
    Eugene, surprising even himself, smiled, stepped over the threshold, and entered Jon’s room.

10. The Crash at the Bridge.
    Once, early on in her time as leader, the search for food had forced her to take them across the bridge that flung itself over the bay away from the city, a difficult, frightening and lengthy journey. The whole way along she could only smell salt water and the noxious metallic scent of the boxes that the thin creatures rode in. The