Less Than Human Read Free

pulled back the hammers on the twelve-gauge. It looked like a toy in his huge hand. "I don't know what you two came in here for, but it damn sure wasn't to shoot no pool." He swung the gun around, centered the two stubby barrels on Earl's chest. "If I had to guess, I'd say your friend there is some crazy son of a bitch who gets his kicks out of scaring young girls."
    "Hell, Leon," Earl said, "you must be psychic. You ought to get you one of them nine-hundred telephone numbers and tell fortunes for a living. You see anything in my future?"
    "Nothing you're gonna like if I ever lay eyes on either one of you again," Leon promised.
    "Damn, I was hoping for money."
    Steven laid the crumpled bill on the bar, started backing away. "Oh, we'll meet again," he said. "You can count on it." He turned to pick up his cue stick, the easy smile still on his face. "Come on, Earl, I guess we'd better leave. It looks like we've worn out our welcome." The smile left his face.
    His cue stick was gone.

Chapter 2
    J ohn Warrick was a small-time drifter and hustler, and the only thing he cared about in this world was playing pool. A very few people, who made it their business to know such things, said he might have been the best to ever play the game. They also said he was past it now.
    Maybe that was so.
    Maybe it wasn't.
    All John knew for sure was that last night he'd taken a smart-ass college boy for three hundred of his rich daddy's bucks. And he had also lifted a pool cue, a very nice pool cue with a red snake curled around the handle.
    He'd taken a chance walking behind that crazy son of a bitch who'd been messing with Leon. If that shotgun had gone off, it would have made hamburger out of the both of them. But life was full of risks. This one had paid off.
    At the moment he was sitting on a bed in a cheap motel just outside San Benito, nursing a Lone Star that had gone warm ten minutes ago. In his hands was the cue stick he had risked his life to get. He was waiting to see if any of the images would gather in his head. Ninety percent of the time nothing ever happened. Sometimes it did. It always took a while, and he was patient, letting the pictures come. Waiting for the cue to give up its secrets.
    John Warrick had one other talent besides pool. He was a little bit psychic.
    After a few minutes the water stains on the ceiling were gone, replaced by the patter of warm rain, neon glare in the night. John Warnck was now someone else and he was walking down a street. Searching for something. Someone. Hookers came up to him, bright smears of color, soft honied voices, offering to fulfill his every sexual fantasy. He smelled their drugs, their diseases, and he rejected their offers. The crowds thinned. The lights were left behind. He walked on, searching.
    Finally he found what he wanted.
    A teenaged boy.
    They talked. The boy said his name was Joey. The man gave no name. After a few minutes, Joey motioned for him to follow. John felt heat in the pit of his stomach.
    The boy led him through a winding alley and up some stairs to a room on the second floor. Money changed hands and he pulled the boy close. Nuzzled his throat. Cold leather, warm skin. A hint of some cheap after-shave on a face too young to shave. John tried to wake up but the images were too strong and they held him between waking and sleeping.
    Suddenly John knew that whoever this man was, he wasn't here for sex. Not even this kind. His lips peeled back over teeth, and the hustler knew the man was smiling. A case was laid on the soiled bed. Opened. Something long was taken out. He couldn't quite tell what it was. Then he saw it had a red snake on the handle. And that it was sharp.
    Everything faded for a moment. And he knew something had happened. Something awful.
    The boy struggled, and John could feel every beat of the laboring heart. Strong at first, then slowing. Slowing. A wild bird flinging itself against the bars of its cage. As the small heart struggled beneath the frail