Ransom Read Online Free Page B

kitchen. Finnegan came back and drew the beer, blew most of the head off, and filled the heavy glass mug the rest of the way to the brim. “Drewry’s been looking for you,” he said as he slid the mug in front of Taylor.
    â€œDrewry. What the hell does he want with me?” Leonard Drewry worked for the court over in the county seat. The man rarely put in an appearance in Thom’s Valley, and whenever he did it was usually for some unpleasant reason.
    Finnegan shrugged and said, “I haven’t heard, John. Is there, uh, is there any reason why you might want to stay out of sight?”
    â€œNothing that I can think of, Joe.” He pondered the question for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope. Nothing.”
    â€œThen just stick around. Drewry’s sure to find you.”
    â€œI got no reason to hide from him. No reason to go running to find him neither.” He belched and said, “Damn but that beer tastes fine. Draw me another, will you?” He laid a silver dollar on the bar to assure Finnegan that he had the wherewithal to pay for his evening, then reached for the bowl of roasted peanuts a few feet down the bar.
    * * *
    â€œPull!” The boy in the pit gave the clay ball a heave. The target curved into sight at an upward angle and flewhigh. Dick Hahn’s handsomely crafted English double lined up on the flight of the ball, swept slightly ahead to compensate for the time it would take for the load of light shot to reach the target, and with a touch of Hahn’s finger spat shot, flame, and smoke into the clear air.
    Ten or so yards to the fore, the clay ball burst into a puff of dust as Hahn’s pellets struck it dead center.
    â€œNice, Dick. Very nice.”
    â€œThanks, Willis.” Hahn swiveled the release lever to break the action. He plucked the spent shell casing from the breech and tossed it into the bucket beside his shooting station. At the end of the day, some club employee would gather the empties and take them into the equipment shed to reload. Dick assumed that was where they also molded the clay targets ready for the next weekend of shooting, but he had never been interested enough to ask. He was above that sort of thing now. Above that sort of person.
    His companion stepped up to the board that marked the shooting position, shouldered his engraved and gold-inlaid German over-and-under, and cried, “Pull.” Another clay flew high. Willis’s gun spat, but the clay sailed on unharmed. Willis Hammerschmidt fired again with no better result.
    â€œNext time, Willis. I thought you were on the bird this time.”
    â€œRight. Next time. Say, thinking about birds, did you hear there will be a live pigeon shoot over in Cauley next month?”
    â€œNo, sir, I hadn’t.”
    Willis scratched himself and reloaded his gun, then said, “Chic Fullbright rounded up practically his entire barn full of passengers the last time the migration came back north. He’s been feeding them cracked corn all this time.” Willis laughed. “And catching hell from his wifethe whole time too. Anyway, he is donating them all. Ten dollars a gun. All the proceeds go to Mrs. Dollman’s orphanage. They get the dead birds too to bake for the kiddies.”
    Hahn nodded. “Sounds fine, Willis.”
    â€œCan we count on you, Dick? You’re Thom’s Valley’s best wing shot and you know we want to make a good showing against those boys over in Cauley.”
    â€œOf course I’ll be there.” Hahn dropped a pair of fresh shells into the open barrels of his gun but left the breech open.
    The two of them stepped over to the next station and Dick motioned for Willis to take the first shot.
    Hammerschmidt snapped the breech of his shotgun closed, put the gun to his shoulder, and yelled, “Pull” again. The gun spat and the clay bird flew on to shatter when it hit the ground.
    Hahn was feeling in a mood to show off a