Authors: Brian M. Wiprud
Crooked (21 page)
Reverend Jim was waiting for him on the porch with one foot on the railing, his sharp red tongue poised in anticipation, and an ocher eye angled up at Russ. Reverend Jim’s affection for Russ was genuine, but the emotional tie did not keep him from robbing Russ blind. He had been banished from the Smonig abode for stealing coins, and would loot the truck’s glove box at any opportunity. Russ walked past the Reverend, dipped his shoulder, and the crow hopped on, expressing joy with flicks of his tongue and fanning wings.
Reverend Jim was named for a popular TV evangelist. As Russ climbed into his truck, the Reverend took his place on the International Harvester’s gearshift knob. He would hop down every time Russ shifted gears, then pop right back up. Turning the pickup’s key for a while, Russ whispered curses at his reluctant ignition and eyed his black thieving friend.
Eating a piece of toast slathered in jam, Jenny sauntered out of the diner and over to the truck.
“Well, seeing as how you’re at least willing to barter, might ya accept information? Hey, Reverend Jim—how’s my baby?” Jenny waved at the bird, who uttered a low, curious rattle like dice in a cup.
Russ gave the key a rest. He dished up his fatigued smile for Jenny.
“OK, Russ, just to show that I for one know how to be neighborly, I’ll give ya the information free and see if your conscience doesn’t do the rest. Ya have a new next-door neighbor.” She chomped her toast, licking grape jam from her lips.
“At the Ballard Place, I’ll bet. I heard some cars over there. So?”
“Well, Russ honey, my brother Matt was over there turning on the water and gas and such. And do ya know what he saw?”
She arched an eyebrow. Russ’s eyebrows remained the same.
“I’ll tell ya what he saw. Your new next-door neighbor is not only from the city, but he is also loaded with fishing tackle. He’s got rods sticking out all over the place. And in his pocket he keeps a wad of bills this thick. Tipped Matt ten bucks, just like that.” Jenny shoved the rest of the toast in her mouth.
“Might not need any guiding if he has all that tackle.” Russ’s lips puckered in thought.
“Russ, don’t be a dope,” she said around the toast, swallowing hard. “It don’t matter how many rods he got. He’s not from around here! He doesn’t know the hot spots like you do, now, does he?”
Russ’s eyebrows arched. Reverend Jim began clucking impatiently.
“Let’s put it this way, Smonig: If you do get this new neighbor as a sport, I want a little map like you gave Chik, but with an ‘X’ marks the secret shad spot.” Jenny licked jam from her thumb.
Russ looked up at her sharply.
“It’s a deal.” He cranked the key and seemed to catch the ignition off guard. The truck started.
CROOKED
A Dell Book / August 2006
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Brian M. Wiprud
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33621-1
v3.0