The Sound and the Furry Read Online Free PDF Page B

betting it’s something
     really special.”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” Bernie said.
    “No?”
    We got in the car. Bernie waved. Rugh waved back. He watched us drive out of the Dry
     Gulch parking lot. I turned so I could watch him watch. He took out his phone and
     walked toward a big, dark-colored car. Someone was waiting in the driver’s seat.

    Back home, Bernie got on the phone, hit speaker.
    “Mitch? Bernie Little here.”
    “Hey, Bernie. How they hangin’?”
    “You say that every time,” Bernie said.
    “So?” said Mitch. “It’s my regular form of greeting.”
    “With women, too?”
    “You suggesting that’s why I never get any?”
    “It’s on the list,” Bernie said.
    Mitch laughed. Fat guys have their own kind of laugh, and Mitch Crudup was a fat guy
     and also a good pal. For one thing, he liked sharing his food. Hadn’t seen Mitch in
     way too long. “What can I do for you, Bernie?”
    “Know an agent named Cale Rugh, supposedly working out of your Houston office?”
    “No supposedly about it,” Mitch said. “What have you done now?”
    “Not following you, Mitch.”
    “Rugh’s a heavy hitter, works out of special ops.”
    “Donnegan’s has something called special ops?” Bernie said.
    “Innermost sanctum,” Mitch said. “Ex-CIA types, even a few ex-KGB, according to rumor.”
    “My knees are shaking.”
    I checked Bernie’s knees. He was in his boxers so I could take a good close look.
     They weren’t moving in the slightest! What was that all about? My gaze wandered to
     the wound on one of his legs. Poor Bernie! He got that wound in the war and sometimes—only
     when he was at his very tiredest—it made him limp, but not a lot, hardly even noticeable.
    “Chet? What are you—”
    All of a sudden, Bernie was looking down at me and I was . . . giving that wound a
     quick lick? Had he brought up something along these lines before? Quite possibly.
     But I only wanted to make it better. And the next moment, I saw in his eyes that he
     knew that, too. He gave me a pat. We were square, on the up-and-up, cool with each
     other to the max.
    “Chet there?” Mitch said.
    “Very much so,” said Bernie, which I didn’t quite get. You’re here or you’re not here,
     unless I’m missing something.
    “Give him a treat for me.”
    Mitch: a gem.
    “He just had a big dinn—Chet! Down!”
    “He knows ‘treat,’ huh?”
    “Among others.”
    Mitch laughed again. Invite yourself over, Mitch. Bring a little something. But Mitch didn’t do that. Instead, he said, “What’s special ops want with you?”
    “Consultation.”
    “They wanted to hire you as a consultant?”
    “What’s so astonishing?”
    “Did I sound astonished? Must be a bad connection. Nothing against you, Bernie—you’re . . .
     how to put it? One of a kind. But I’ve never heard of Donnegan’s hiring a consultant.
     Everything around here stays under the dome.”
    “What dome?”
    “There’s no actual dome,” Mitch said. “It’s more of a company metaphor. Point is,
     we don’t go outside, no way, no how. What’s the case?”
    “It’s out of state and involves mining. Names and all the intel were going to be forthcoming
     when I signed on, which I did not.”
    “You turned it down?”
    “Yup.”
    “The money?”
    “Nope. Money was good.”
    “Then what?”
    “I’d already accepted another assignment.”
    “Divor—”
    “Don’t say it. Wouldn’t matter what it was—we can only do a case at a time.”
    “And Cale Rugh couldn’t come up with a workaround for that?”
    “Not for lack of effort.”
    “I’ll bet,” Mitch said.
    “You know him?” said Bernie.
    “Met him once or twice. Those slow-talking Texans can be much smarter than they seem.”
    “I’m aware of that,” Bernie said. “I was born in Texas myself.”
    “But you’re not slow talking.”
    “Neither was he.”
    “Want me to touch base with him?”
    “Nah,” Bernie said. “I was just making sure he