Chapter 24
THE FRONT DOOR SLAMS. Footsteps pounding up the stairs.
“Where the f**k is he?!” shouts the voice.
Roger Walls.
I jump out of bed. Naked. Trembling. Suzanne pops up,
covering her naked breasts with the white comforter.
He enters the bedroom, double-barrel shotgun gripped in both
hands. A weapon he must store in the trunk of his beat up Porsche. He’s dressed
in the same clothing I left him in at Ralph’s. Blue jeans, brown cowboy boots,
button-down shirt under a ratty bush jacket with the sleeves rolled up. His
thick gray hair is mussed and the facial skin beneath his gray beard is
beet-red from anger and skyrocketing blood pressure. His brown eyes are wide
and, even from where I’m standing halfway across the room, I can see beads of
sweat dripping off his brow.
“Dow
