Dastardly Bastard Read Online Free

bathroom, breathing hard. Something was wrong. He was suddenly very sure of that fact.
    Jeff stayed in his room on book signing tours. Even when he got lucky, he would always bring the woman back to the hotel room for the fling. Jeff always did as he was told. The last thing Donald or Scribner needed was H.R. Chatmon’s model running around strange towns making a fool of himself in public. Chatmon, the persona, was a recluse. He needed to be. If too much was learned, Donald would turn into Lucy Ricardo with some serious ‘splainin’ to do .
    The phone continued to ring in Donald’s ear, until Robert-From-The-Front-Desk answered, “I’m sorry, but your call doesn’t seem to be going through.”
    “Mr. Chatmon might be asleep,” Donald said. “Could you send someone by to—”
    Someone knocked on the door. “Never mind. Someone’s at the door. It’s probably him. Thanks, Bob.”
    “It’s Rob—”
    Donald hung up and moved to open the door.
    A red-cheeked girl stood on the other side with her face downcast. The front of her shirt showed a laptop with a soft S&M scene on its screen. Above the picture, in bold italics was eMurder .
    “I think you have the wrong room.” He was closing the door when the girl placed her palm on the wood. He could have shut it if he tried hard enough. She didn’t appear to be very strong, but her confidence was palpable, or maybe her anger.
    “We respected you,” she said, her eyes still on the floor. Her auburn hair cascaded down in front of her face. The girl couldn’t be more than sixteen.
    “I don’t—”
    “You fucking lied to us!” She snapped her head up and gave him a nail-studded glare. “You’re a goddamn midget ?”
    He put his shoulder into the door, slamming it in the girl’s face. He backed away slowly as she pounded for entrance. Luckily, hotel doors locked automatically from the outside when shut. He said a silent thank you for that one.
    After a moment, Donald heard other voices out there, new ones, male and female. The girl had brought an entire brood with her. Donald wondered, distantly, if they were carrying torches and pitchforks.
    “Shit.”
    Jeff. He needed to find Jeff. And quite possibly castrate the bastard.
    Donald moved as fast as his small legs could carry him. He ran through the foyer into the great room and on toward the bath, where he snatched up his cell from the area next to the sink. He’d forgotten all about the vibrating he’d heard while showering.
    1 Missed Call
    3 New Messages
    The call was from Lars Stillstead, and in the subsequent voicemail he only said something had gone terribly wrong. The other two were text messages—one from Lars telling Donald to call him as soon as possible, the other from Jeff.
    The last simply read: good luck lil buddy ttyl!
    “Motherfucker!” Donald roared.
    Jeff had given him up. For whatever reason, Donald had been betrayed. He’d known Jeff for almost twenty years, even since Sunne died, and he’d thought the man a true friend. What the hell had happened over the course of less than twenty-four hours?
    Donald called the cops to deal with the unhappy mob at his door. Then, he called Lars to find out what came next.
     
    ~ * * * ~
     
    By the time the police arrived, the throng of angry villagers had dispersed. Donald supposed they had thought better of their actions. The Pointvilla Hotel might have had something to do with it, as well. It didn’t look good for a five-star hideaway to be harboring possibly dangerous fans, especially since someone on staff must have given away Donald’s room number. Donald would let his lawyers have a field day with that once everything died down.
    Lars Stillstead was not happy. “I just can’t believe Jeff would do something like this.” Lars sighed into his end of the phone, so loud Donald thought he could feel the wind in his ear. “I think he sold the story to Newsweek .”
    “ What? ” Donald almost screamed as he finished packing his suitcase.