Hellbox (Nameless Detective) Read Online Free Page B

mayor himself.”
    The heavyset guy stiffened, turned his head slightly to mutter something, then turned it back as one of the waitresses, a plump blonde, approached him.
    “Haven’t seen much of you lately, Your Honor,” the same man in the booth said to his back. “You been away on official business?”
    “Coffee,” Heavyset growled at the waitress.
    “Anything to eat?”
    “Chocolate donut, if you got any left.”
    “We don’t. Sorry.”
    “Just as well,” the talkative one said. “Chocolate donuts’re bad for your waistline, Mr. Mayor. What’ll your constituents think?”
    Heavyset spun on his stool, high color blotching his cheeks, and half shouted, “Knock that mayor shit off, goddamn it!”
    The noise level in there went down quick. One of the women customers made an offended noise; a father sitting with his wife and two small daughters called out an angry “Hey!” The redhaired waitress said sharply, “You watch your language in here, Pete. This is a family restaurant.”
    “Tell that to Verriker and his buddies there.”
    “Lighten up, why don’t you?” another of the men said.
    “I’ll lighten up when you all leave me the hell alone. All of you. All of you.”
    “Hey, take it easy—”
    Heavyset said, “I ain’t taking crap from nobody anymore,” and jerked off his stool, glared at the three men, threw a couple of random glares around the room, and stalked out.
    As soon as he was gone, the atmosphere in there climbed back up to normal. The man named Verriker said, “Balfour gets weirder and weirder all the time.”
    “Well, you keep yanking his chain, Ned,” one of his friends said.
    “Hell, it’s just a joke. He used to be able to take being kidded.”
    “Not anymore. He always was a hothead, but now it’s like he thinks everybody’s out to get him.”
    “Brought it on himself, didn’t he? The way he does business, treats people?”
    The other friend said, “Never know what a guy like that’s liable to do. I say it’d be smart to cut him some slack.”
    “Maybe you’re right.”
    Conversation among the three lagged after that. A couple of minutes later, they paid their bill and went out in a bunch.
    Kerry said, “Now what do you suppose that was all about?”
    “No idea.”
    “People here don’t seem to like their mayor very much.”
    “If he is the mayor. Didn’t look like a politician to me.”
    He wasn’t one. When the waitress came over with our check, Kerry, who is neither shy nor retiring, asked her if Pete Balfour was the mayor of Six Pines. The question brought a wry and somewhat sour chuckle.
    “Not hardly. That man couldn’t get elected dogcatcher if we needed one.”
    “He’s not running for mayor, then?”
    “Not of Six Pines,” the waitress said. “He wouldn’t get fifty votes.”
    So we still didn’t know what it was all about. Not that it mattered or was worth pursuing. Local business and none of ours.
    *   *   *
    After lunch, Kerry and I drove down to the south end of town. Just before you got to the Six Pines Fairgrounds, there were a couple of stands selling fireworks. Both had prominently displayed signs written in large letters: W ARNING! F OR U SE IN D ESIGNATED A REAS O NLY! H EAVY F INES FOR U NAUTHORIZED U SE!
    Kerry said, “The fire danger must be high this time of year.”
    “Probably is, as hot and dry as it is.”
    “I wonder why they allow fireworks at all.”
    “If they weren’t allowed, people would just go buy them somewhere else and bring them in. This way, the authorities can exercise some control.”
    “We’re not going to let that effect our decision to buy here, are we? The fire danger, I mean.”
    “I don’t see why we should,” I said. “The earthquake threat doesn’t keep us from living in San Francisco.”
    The fairgrounds were built on several acres of flatland just before the county road began its climb up out of the valley. What we could see from the road was a single set of pale green bleachers