When Pigs Fly Read Online Free Page A

about?
     
    When he opened the nightstand drawer, he saw an envelope with a handwritten return address:
     
    Mack Durgin
     
    RR #1
     
    Pincushion, AZ
     
    He looked inside and pulled out a snapshot. For a second, Ace’s blood stopped flowing through his veins. Officer Mack Durgin, Lowell P.D.! Memories washed over Ace’s brain—of Officer Durgin arresting them, testifying in juvie court, picking them up, letting them go, warning, watching, offering lame advice, and generally screwing up their plans. Best way to stay out of trouble, he’d said once, is don’t touch what’s not yours. Really, where would America be with an attitude like that? We’d still be trading with the Indians. Officer Durgin was a tall, solidly built cop with sandy hair and wrinkles around his eyes that some people had a funny name for—pigeon toes or crow’s-feet, Ace couldn’t quite remember which.
     
    “Look at this,” Frosty said. He had a strongbox opened up on the bed; passports, cash, and a house deed were spread on the blanket. “I got it from the closet. There must be half a grand in here.”
     
    From the front of the house came a rustle and a bump, and Ace caught his breath. “I think I hear something. Grab the cash and put everything else back where you found it.” Frosty did as he was told, feeling virtuous as he returned a couple of twenties.
     
    A door opened and closed. Ace heard two guys as he motioned for Frosty to be quick.
     
    “Where is it?” One guy’s voice rumbled like faraway thunder. He sounded like he was already sick of asking.
     
    “Where is what? Unnnh! ”
     
    There was a loud thump that sounded like a body slamming against a wall. Ace’s guts clenched, and he suddenly thought those Depends weren’t such a bad idea.
     
    “Last I was here, it was on the mantel.”
     
    “I don’t know what—”
     
    There was a sharp gasp, like all of the air had been squeezed out of some poor loser’s lungs. Thump, thump, thump. Ace and Frosty hadn’t bargained for this, and they backpedaled quietly down the hall. Wait, they couldn’t take those squeaky cellar steps. Ace motioned that they should hide in the bathroom. Frosty whimpered, and Ace slapped his arm.
     
    “You don’t tell me, you’re dead.” That awful voice again, carrying from down the hallway. Ace’s throat went dry.
     
    “I sent it to my son.”
     
    “Where is he?”
     
    Mack Durgin. Ace had figured by now Mack would be chasing widows in Florida. Instead he lived in AZ, wherever that was.
     
    “Let’s get out of here,” Ace whispered.
     
    “Guy’ll get killed. We can’t just leave him.” Frosty’s eyes welled up. Caring was one of his better qualities. Ace nervously edged down the hall toward the living room and saw that same guy kicking a man on the floor, though Ace could only see the victim’s legs. This was wicked bogus, interfering with a perfectly honest housebreaking and using violence besides. The guy was much too big for Ace, though. Cowardice had served him well this far in life; why not stick with what he knew?
     
    He closed his eyes, hoping to wish the mess away. When he opened them, he realized how big the man was—very—and saw that one of his hands was bloody and the other gripped an old lady’s neck.
     
    Now Ace had lots of principles, all negotiable. The one that popped into his mind at this point was less flexible than most: If you absolutely, positively must hit some dude who’s bigger than you, make sure his back is turned.
     
    Ace tiptoed into the living room and grabbed a ceramic lamp.

Chapter 4
     
    Same place, seconds earlier
    Diet Cola was built like an ex pro linebacker who’d forgotten how to train but remembered how to eat. He kicked Carrick Durgin in the ribs, and the breath left Durgin’s chest like a popped balloon. “You got rid of the urn, you stupid whackjob?” Durgin’s eyes were rimmed with red. He moaned a soft prayer, and Diet sat on his face to smother him and put him