The Girls With Games of Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

blend in,
Zginski often told him,
not stand out,
and he knew this countrified deference was what the big white man expected.
    The man snorted with cold humor. “That a fact.”
    Even with his vampire reflexes, Leonardo almost didn’t see the blow coming in time to roll with it. The big man slapped him hard enough to stun a normal person, and Leonardo let the impact toss him off the porch into the grass. If he’d resisted, the man might’ve broken his hand, and that certainly would’ve gotten unwanted attention.
    “Don’t lie to me, boy,” the big man said, not even bothering to look directly at Leonardo. “I’ll kick your nigra ass from here to the Alabama line. Now where is Mr. Crabtree?”
    “I think he in the barn, sir,” Leonardo said, and got his first look at this “Byron.” The big man had sandy hair cut long in the current fashion, thick sideburns, and a shirt with a wide collar. His face had once been handsome, but was now skewed, the chin uneven and one side of his jaw caved slightly inward. Scar tissue told the story of some terrible injury that had, apparently, done little to humble the man.
    “Thank you, boy,” he said, then headed to the barn. He walked with the swagger of a man who loved to provoke violence, and hardly ever lost a fight.
    Leonardo stood, brushed off his jeans, then sat on the porch steps. Even sun-weakened, Leo knew he could snap this giant bully in half, but the man seemed inexplicably familiar, and until he could place him, it was best to lay low literally and figuratively.
    Crabtree put the neat pile of cash into his pocket and shook Zginski’s hand. If he noticed it was considerably colder than normal, he didn’t mention it. He handed him a ring with three keys on it: two for the ignition, one for the trunk. “Reckon we got ourselves a deal, Mr. Zigeeinski.”
    Zginski did not correct the pronunciation as he tucked the title into his shirt pocket. “Indeed.”
    “Daddy!” Clora said urgently from the door. “You got more company.”
    A new voice called, “Jebediah Crabtree, what you doing out here? It’s a day to be inside with the A.C. running.”
    Crabtree and Zginski turned. The big man stood beside Clora, one huge arm across her bare shoulders. The gesture was both parental and possessive, and Clora quicklysquirmed out from under it. “I’ll be back at the house,” she said, giving the big man a disgusted look.
    The man shrugged and strode into the barn, ducking to avoid the roof beams. He offered one enormous hand to Crabtree, who shook it with clear reluctance. “Howdy, Sheriff Cocker,” he said demurely.
    The big man laughed. “I ain’t the sheriff no more, Jeb, I’m just a lowly civilian now.” He turned to Zginski. “Don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Byron Cocker.”
    Zginski had to look up to meet his gaze, as Cocker was a good foot taller and probably eighty pounds heavier. He noted the signs of facial surgery that almost, but not quite, made him look normal. He wondered how the man had originally been injured. “I am Rudy Zginski,” he said, using the diminutive form of his first name. It seemed to make people less suspicious.
    But not Cocker. Like a dog bred for fighting he considered direct eye contact a challenge, and frowned at the way Zginski met his gaze. “You a foreigner?”
    “He’s a refugee,” Crabtree interjected. “He used to be a Red, but now he’s seen the light and wants to be an American.”
    Cocker tightened his grip on Zginski’s hand, and waited for the strain to show. Zginski simply smiled and let the man squeeze. Finally he said, “Your American handshakes last so long, I am reminded of the way lovers hold hands in
my
country.”
    Cocker quickly pulled his hand away, and fury sparked in his eyes. Then he smiled and said, “Aw, we just like to be sure we’re among friends, that’s all. Ain’t that right, Jeb?”
    “That’s a fact, Mr. Cocker. How’s things in Appleville?”
    Cocker ignored the question and