The Black Death Read Online Free

people corrupted by Mr. Dark.
    “Thanks for all your help, Frank. It’s much appreciated. I’ll be staying in the shack behind Kenny’s station for a little bit, assuming my bike needs more time than today has left.”
    “Good luck to you,” said Frank, “and thanks again. If you need any help while you’re here, don’t hesitate to let me know. As far as that goes, don’t take my ramblings the wrong way. I don’t talk to outsiders too often, and I was just venting. Most of the folks around here are good people. They’re just misguided at times, same as anywhere else.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    Mortimer’s was cleaner than Matt had expected it to be by a fair amount, though it was as dark as most small-town watering holes tend to be. Even more surprising, and quite welcome, was the central air-conditioning and lack of cigarette smoke. Matt walked past a sign that said Seat Yourself and did just that, ignoring the bar and sitting at a table in the corner. Matt chose a seat on the wall that would let him see the bar and the door and gave a look around.
    There were three old-timers having a drink at the bar and watching baseball, and the man behind was so stereotypical bartender that it was hard to believe. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, both forearms glaring tattoos at Matt, one with the words
Death Before Dishonor
over a knife and the other of a hula girl. Around the barkeep’s waist was an immaculately clean apron, and when he saw Matt looking, he gave him a nod. Leaning back in the chair, Matt was fine waiting. The air was cool, and there was no angry drunk, zombified maniac, or black-eyed meth freak to deal with. All in all, pretty perfect. The bartender came by a few minutes later, and Matt read the embroidered name on his shirt: Mort.
    “How you doing?” Mort asked before setting a glass of water in front of Matt.
    “I’m doing all right. Had some bike trouble, so this might not be the last I see of you.”
    “’S all right with me, especially if you brought cash.” One of the men at the bar howled with laughter, and the bartender spun, gave the man a look that went ignored, and turned back to Matt. “Those old buggers think that retirement means you just get hammered all day. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll take the money, but it can be a little much. Can I get you a drink?”
    “I’ll take a beer—whatever’s on draft is fine with me—and I’d look at a menu if you had one.”
    “No problem. I’ll go wake up the cook and bring you that menu and a beer. Lake perch is nine dollars. I think he uses too much salt in the breading, but most of the folks around here seem to like it that way, so I let it slide.”
    Mort went back to his bar with its drunks, and Matt took a drink of the water. It was cold, but that was about all it had going for it. The water had a metallic taste to it, and though the glass was clean, it had a grit to it, as if some of the soap still needed to be rinsed off. Assuming it was an old bar trick being used by an old bartender, Matt set the glass on the table. Mort returned a few moments later, setting Matt’s beer on the table and handing over the menu. Matt took it witha nod, had a sip of beer from an unsurprisingly properly rinsed mug, and gave a look to the menu as Mort walked away. The food, just like Mort and the trick with the dirty glass, was exactly what Matt had expected.
    When Mort came back a few minutes later, Matt’s beer was empty, and he ordered another draft and the perch special. As he was ordering, three men of the type Matt had expected to see holding down stools came in and sat at the end of the bar away from the old-timers. The first of them howled like a wolf, and Mort got a cross look on his face that disappeared as fast as it had arrived.
    “I’ll get him cooking that perch, but the draft will be a few minutes.” Mort jerked his shoulder toward the new arrivals, and Matt gave him a nod back, then watched Mort walk to the men, shake their