The Black Death Read Online Free Page A

hands, and then clap one of them on the back. Matt hadn’t noticed at first, but all three men had black bandannas hanging out of their back left pockets, and all looked as if they could probably throw their weight around if they felt it necessary. Without being told, Matt got the sort of feeling he always trusted, and he knew that these men were either in that Redneck Mafia the sheriff had mentioned or were somehow associated with it. Cautious to observe without looking as if he was doing so, Matt began to gather what he could about the men.
Probably going to be a here a few days, in any case. May as well give a look to the local wildlife.
That look was tempered as a beer and a plate of golden perch fillets, fries, and tartar sauce arrived at Matt’s table.
    As much as he wanted to continue to observe the men, food mollified him, and Matt set to eating. For their part, the men at the bar didn’t have a whole lot going on, either. They were drinking beer, doing shots of whiskey, and watching the same ball game as the old men. Had Matt not seen the kid with dead eyes attacking people like an animal in the street, he would have thought that maybe Kenny was right and that Sheriff Frank was overstepping the odd boundaries that a small-town lawman can find all around him.
    The black eyes, though, they changed things. So did that sure feeling that the men sitting at the bar were part of the Redneck Mafia. Matt was used to that sort of sure feeling. He’d felt it before. It usually happened right before people with rotting flesh started to try to kill him and every innocent person around him. He’d known that, when he eventually got off the bike, he was going to find trouble, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this. He smiled as he folded a piece of perch into his mouth.
Not the worst problem to have, too much normal.
Deciding that he’d hadenough perch, beer, and work as a detective, Matt walked to the bar, where Mort the bartender was talking to the three rough-looking guys.
    “I need to settle up when you get a minute,” said Matt. “The food was great, but I need to see if Kenny can give me an update on my ride.”
    All three of the men sitting at the bar turned to look at him as Mort walked away from the bar, and the one closest to him said, “What brings you in here? There are definitely better shitholes out there, and I mean in any given direction. Right, Mort?”
    Matt was holding his bag under his arm, and he could feel the ax handle inside it. It was comforting in a small way, but the ax in his hand would have been a measure of security that was almost incomparable.
    “If I could have picked a spot, I’m not sure where I would have landed,” said Matt, “but something on my bike died and said I was going to be stuck sitting here for a bit.”
    The man nodded. The other two had already lost interest and gone back to drinking and watching baseball. Mort came back to the bar and slid a handwritten bill across it. The paper was set in a little plastic dish, and Matt dropped a twenty in it.
    “You can keep the change,” Matt said to Mort, then turned to the other man and said, “You fellas have a nice day. I’m going to go see if my engine trouble has been diagnosed.”
    “Best of luck,” said the man, turning and winking at Mort, “and if you get bored while you’re waiting on that moron to fix your wheels, have old Mort here give me a call. My name’s Free, and I can set you up with a few different versions of a good time.”
    “That sounds good,” said Matt, “real good, as a matter of fact. I’m Matt Cahill, and I’ll see you around.”
    Matt was almost stammering the words as he backed away from the man. Only the timing of a home run in the baseball game kept attention from being set upon him. When Free had turned toward Matt, he could see that a small tendril of rotten flesh was creeping up his neck. The exposed and raw skin made several of the tendons in the man’s throat look broken and