Ghost Hunters Read Free Page A

the job done. There was something hard in Nancy, a core of toughness he’d never seen in Los Angeles. There was something about this place that made folks insular and reserved, unwilling to share themselves with the outside world. They had a strange sort of comfort in their isolation, and anyone who attempted to prick their xenophobic bubble was in for a rude reception.
    They wore their backwoods aura like a suit of armor.
    Dick was going to find out if they thought that armor was bulletproof.

4
    T he drunks staggered out of the Hanging Rooster and went their separate ways. Dick watched them wander off to their cars or stumble into the darkness alongside the gravel road, men and women leaving alone, as if they didn’t know the people they spent their days and nights drinking beside. Dick understood what that meant, to be by yourself even when you were surrounded by people. His wife saw him as a wannabe, a failure wasting time and money grasping at straws. They’d fought about it, and Dick hated that, but he hated the silence that had taken the place of the fighting over the past few weeks even more. He wanted this, not just for the money, but to prove to her that she was wrong. He wanted her to see the mistake she’d made about him, and the only way to do that was to make this trip work.
    And he was willing to do anything to make it work.
    He owed it to his crew, too. All six of them were sleeping in the back of the van, slumped over in the bench seats, heads leaning against the inside of the van or tilted back against the headrest, ignorant of how much their own futures hung in the balance. He let them sleep while he stood watch. For now, their ignorance really was their bliss.
    The gun was a heavy lump in his lap. He’d only touched it to slip it out of the case under the driver’s seat, make sure it was loaded, and place it on his left thigh. The dead weight was a reminder of how far he’d come and how far he was willing to go. It reminded him of the kind of man he was about to become.
    Dick couldn’t believe she’d pushed him to this. He’d worked so hard to get this shot. What made a hillbilly bartender think she had the right to get in his way? She didn’t even have to do anything, really. Just talk to him about the crazy shit that had gone down in the county, show him to the haunted spot that had Lonny’s sources all wound up. Shit, he’d been willing to pay her for the few hours of her time the whole thing would take. She probably would have made more money working with Dick for one day than she’d made in her whole life up to that point. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the bitch. “Why wouldn’t you just talk to me, Nancy? Why’d you have to be such a hardass?”
    The last of the drunks were gathered around the trash can in front of the Hanging Rooster. A skinny little fucker, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt despite the brisk autumn night and the nasty north wind blowing, held court. His rat-like hands flickered from his pockets to the outstretched hands of other bums, passing out plastic-wrapped bundles and snatching up crumpled bills.
    “Get your fucking meth and go , assholes.” Dick didn’t need any witnesses for what was coming. Why were there so many motherfuckers floating around this shitty little bar at two thirty in the morning? For fuck’s sake, crawl back to your trailers , he mentally commanded.
    After fifteen minutes of smoking meth in their little huddle, they wandered off and left Dick alone. He sat in the cold van and watched the bar’s front door, willing Nancy to come out. He imagined the scene in his head, she’d be tired and preoccupied with getting the hell home. Probably wouldn’t even look around, just lock the doors and shuffle her weary little feet back to her car. Dick would walk right up, all friendly like, try to talk her into going along with him. If he could wear her down with his city-boy good looks and charming patter, that’d be great. If