Long Black Curl Read Online Free Page A

flat and unaccented, an automated shadow of its former, powerful self.
    The woman frowned. “Damn, Rockhouse, you sound like one of them video games kids play. You got a remote control that walks you around the room, too?”
    Rockhouse Hicks looked more closely at the woman, then recognized her. He hid his surprise and said slowly, “Bo-Kate Wisby.”
    She smiled and took off the sunglasses. “Was beginning to think you’d forgotten me. How long’s it been?”
    He rocked back on his heels but didn’t quite retreat. “Been a while.”
    â€œThat’s a fact.”
    She looked around at the stones that formed the doorframe and the inside walls. She nodded at the electrolarynx, and the puckered scar tissue on his neck beneath it. “Your daughter Curnen did that, didn’t she? Tore your damn voice out with her teeth, from what I hear. That must’ve stung.”
    â€œWhat do you want, Bo-Kate?” he said again.
    â€œCan I come in?” She made a complex gesture with her hand, then bowed her head in apparent supplication.
    He wasn’t fooled. “Not till you tell me why you’re here. Last I heard, you was working over in Nashville.”
    She chuckled. “Rockhouse, a lesser woman would think you didn’t trust her.”
    â€œI don’t. I remember what you did. And I know what your song is, Bo-Kate: ‘Young Hunting.’ And I ain’t gonna be another Lord Henry.”
    She laughed, a snort of utter contempt, and reached into her bag. “Old man, you ain’t never been my Lord Henry. And we ain’t close enough related for you to see me that way. You think I don’t know why Curnen did what she did? Hell, everybody knows. You’re a clich é , you know that? An inbred, inbreeding old mountain man who doesn’t even have indoor plumbing.” Her voice turned hard. “Now let me the fuck inside.”
    He fumbled and dropped his electrolarynx as he tried to slam the door in her face.
    She pressed her lipstick-sized stun gun against his belly. He stumbled back, convulsing. She followed him inside, holding the device against him, careful not to shock herself. When she pulled it away, he fell twitching to the floor. A wet stain spread across his crotch.
    She closed the door and looked around the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust. His boots scraped the floor as his legs spasmed.
    A tepid fire burned in the hearth, putting out very little heat. A table with two straight-backed chairs, a rocking chair, and a bed were the only furniture. The walls were damp, moldy stone. No windows admitted light; a trapdoor peeked out beneath a tattered rug.
    â€œGreat gosh a’mighty, Rockhouse, you really do have a rock house,” Bo-Kate said as she looked around. “You really live like this? With all the power you used to have, you decide to live in a damn burrow ? You must be part gopher.”
    Five banjos on stands lined the wall. There were no pictures, no feminine touches, and the place smelled unwashed and sealed off.
    â€œWell, no sense putting off what I’m here for. I’d tell you I was sorry, but that just flat ain’t the case. I’m not the least bit sorry for what I’m about to do.”
    She knelt beside him. Foam collected at the corners of his mouth, and he wheezed. She checked his pulse and, satisfied that he wasn’t actually dying, bent close to speak in his ear. “I know you can hear me, so pay attention. When I heard about what happened at the Pair-A-Dice, well, I just knew it was my time to come back. You lost your power that day, and that makes you useless. And it leaves an empty chair.”
    She opened her purse and pulled out a heavy pair of industrial clippers, the kind used to cut tire rubber or metal sheets. She squeezed them a couple of times; the big spring between the handles squeaked.
    â€œBesides, it’s time for somebody new to take over, somebody who