Night Kills Read Free Page A

support money. He’s my ex-husband, is all, not a bank robber.”
    Pearl struggled to her feet, furious. The pain in her elbow flared. “Why the hell did you ask me to stop him?”
    â€œI dunno. I just did.” Judy began to cry.
    â€œI’m gonna goddamn sue you!” snarled the tattooed guy, sitting up now and glaring at Pearl.
    â€œ Sue me? You’re lucky I didn’t—”
    â€œMiss Kasner.”
    Another voice. That of Copperthwaite, the bank manager. “When Judy calms down I’d like to see both of you in my office.”
    â€œI-I’m okay.” Judy sniffled and used the back of her wrist to wipe her eyes, which were blackened by running mascara, making her look like a distraught raccoon. She kneeled low and brushed a lock of hair from Mr. Tats’s forehead.
    â€œJesus H. Christ!” Pearl swore, dusting herself off and rubbing her sore elbow.
    â€œPearl…?”
    Yet another voice. Very faint. Familiar.
    Oh, yeah. Quinn.
    Pearl fished the cell phone out of her pocket and held it to her ear.
    â€œI’m in,” she said.
    Â 
    Fedderman wondered if he’d retired too soon. He was the youngest of the golf foursome from the Coral Castle condo project on Florida’s serene and scenic southwest coast. It was like paradise here except for hurricane season, and Fedderman knew he should be happy despite the fact that his wife, Blanche, had left him…what, a year ago now. It seemed much shorter. All he had to do in life was collect his pension and lie around the condo or play golf. Being retired, he was supposed to like just lying around. He was supposed to like golf.
    He was supposed to like fishing, too, but frankly some of the things he’d caught in the ocean while deep-sea fishing scared him. Not to mention the seasickness.
    â€œHit the damned ball, Larry!” Chet, one of his foursome, shouted.
    Fedderman looked back at him and waved. His drive had taken him off the fairway and into the rough, which was to say high saw grass that would cut your hand if you tried to pull up a clump. It was a miracle he’d even found the damned ball.
    Never a man whose clothes quite fit, Fedderman’s tall and lanky yet potbellied form even made his golf outfit look like it belonged on someone else. One sleeve of his blue knit pullover seemed longer than the other, and his muted plaid slacks made him look as if he were standing in a brisk wind even though the weather was calm. And hot. And humid.
    As he approached the ball, Fedderman slapped at a mosquito and missed. His seemingly mismatched body parts made for an interesting golf swing as he took a practice swish, then moved closer and slashed the ball out of the rough. It rose neatly toward the green, carrying Fedderman’s hope with it, then suddenly veered right as if it had encountered the jet stream and landed among some trees.
    â€œYou missed the sand trap, anyway!” Chet shouted. Fedderman was learning to dislike Chet.
    Fedderman’s shot again. His three fellow golfers were already on the green. He was isolated in what seemed a forest of palm trees near a running creek. There was his ball. Not a bad lie, on a stretch of grass that wasn’t so high, because the sun never reached it beneath the closely grouped palms.
    Something moved near the creek. Fedderman stared but saw nothing in the tall grass. He’d heard about alligators on the golf course but had never seen one, even on his frequent journeys into the rough. Still, he was sure he’d seen some kind of movement not human and it gave him the creeps.
    He quickly approached his ball and set himself. He’d have to keep the shot low and get the ball between the trunks of two palm trees if he even had a chance to get near the barely visible green.
    â€œShoot the ball!” Chet yelled. “Shoot the ball, Larry!”
    Shoot you, you dumb bastard!
    Movement again, in the corner of his vision. There sure as