Two for Flinching Read Online Free Page A

reached
for the bottle and helped himself to a long pull of whiskey. “I
asked them nicely to move along.”
    “And they didn’t?”
    Luther shook his head. “Said something about
a bad transformer.”
    “Why don’t we go inside?” I suggested. “Maybe
have a cup of coffee?”
    “Ain’t got no coffee made.”
    “I’ll make it,” I said. “Come on.”
    He grunted and stood. “Let me check that
twelve gauge.”
    He grunted again, but handed it over. I
racked the slide. “Luther, this gun isn’t even loaded.”
    “I’m drunk, not stupid.”
    We went into the house, through the dining
room, and into the den. The house was in a mild state of disarray.
Three days worth of newspapers scattered on the floor, magazines on
the couch, a couple of empty glasses on the end tables. It was much
neater than my home. In the kitchen, I got the coffee going. I knew
where everything was. It wasn’t as if this was my first visit.
    As the maker started making, I went back into
the den to find Luther in his battered easy chair. The bottle was
next to him. I had left the shotgun by the door. “Where’s
Rochelle?”
    “Gone.”
    “Kind of figured that,” I said, “you being
drunk and all and it’s not even noon. What happened?”
    “She left me.”
    “Again?”
    He shot me a dirty look. “Says I been
cheating on her.”
    “You do have a history of it.”
    “Not in four years.”
    “Well.”
    “I think this time it’s for good.”
    “You say that every time.”
    He rubbed his face with the palms of both
hands. “Yeah. I reckon I do.”
    “She’ll be back.”
    “Probably.” He picked up the bottle of Evan
Williams. “How you doing?”
    “I ain’t bragging.”
    “Don’t guess you are,” he said. “You still
practicing?”
    “I hit the bag yesterday for a while.”
    “The bag?” Disgust spread across his face.
“Your form is what counts.”
    Luther and his form. Always the form.
    “I know, I know.”
    Drunk as a skunk, he stood and executed the
Shim Jun form—all eighty-one moves. Every movement precise, the
steps crisp, the punches and kicks snapping cleanly. Finished, he
fell back into the chair. “That’s what I got from ten years in
Korea,” he said. “That and the clap.”
    “Don’t hold anything back.” I went into the
kitchen and returned with two steaming mugs. Luther poured whiskey
into his, offered me the bottle. I shook my head. “Judge, you can’t
keep doing this.”
    He sipped from his cup. “Why not?”
    “We put a black man in the White House,” I
said. “You keep pulling guns on people and being a minority
politician won’t be enough to keep you out of jail.”
    “Who told you that?”
     
    ***
     
    Mid-afternoon, I pulled into the garage and
waited for the door to close behind me before getting out of the
Jeep. My home was probably safe, what with the care Dumb and Dumber
had taken around Sarah. Probably being the key word. I was probably overreacting. The care I had taken leaving the
office, the erratic driving, trying to make a tail. Probably. Something was definitely in the air. Until I found
out what it was, I was going to take the proper
precautions.
    Blondie and Sarah came running when I pushed
into the kitchen. I kneed the dog away and scooped up my daughter.
She hugged me and I slapped a loud kiss on her cheek. That moment
always made everything else seem small, inconsequential. “Hey,
baby, how was your day?”
    “Not good.”
    “No? What happened?”
    She pouted. “I spilled my milk.”
    “You don’t even like milk.”
    She frowned.
    “So maybe it was a good day and you didn’t
know it.”
    “I spilled it on my favorite pants.”
    News to me. I didn’t even know she had
favorite pants. “Maybe it was an average day. A little good, a
little bad.”
    “I’ll have to think about that.”
    I found Erin sitting Indian style in the
middle of the couch, textbooks and notebooks stacked on either
side. “You busy?”
    “No. I like reading Trig for the fun