The Circuit Rider Read Free Page A

cigar. He got it
going, blew out a long plume of smoke, and spoke. “Now that I’ve helped you,
I’m wondering if you’ll help me.”
    Bird poured herself another drink before he could
take the bottle away after she responded negatively to whatever he might be
proposing.
    “You can always ask,” Bird said. “Of course, if you
ask me something that makes me angry, or ask it in a manner that angers me,
there will most likely be consequences.”
    Van Osdol dipped his head in understanding.
    “There is only one way to ask this question,” he
said.
    The thick cigar smoke hung in the air between them
as the prostitute at the piano hit one final note before getting up and joining
the table with the poker game.
    “For fifty dollars, would you be willing to kill
someone for me?”
    Bird studied the attorney’s face. He wasn’t drunk. And
he wasn’t joking. She sipped her whiskey and waited.
    “His name is Corey Flom,” Van Osdol said. “He
killed a five-year-old girl.”
    “What about the law?” she said. “Have they already
looked into it? Found the man innocent, so now you want your justice, vigilante
style?”
    “They never looked into it because they can’t find
the body,” he said.
    She thought for a moment.
    “What was this girl to you?”
    Van Osdol shook his head. “Not open for
discussion.”
    Bird watched as one of the poker players slammed
down his cards and gleefully raked in a pile of chips.
    “Tell you what,” Bird said. “The price is a hundred
dollars, with fifty due now. I’ll look into it, and if I don’t like it, I’ll
return the fifty to you, minus five dollars for my research fee.”
    “And if you like what you see?” he asked.
    “Then you’ll owe me the other fifty for a job well
done.”
    Van Osdol studied her for a minute, then counted
out fifty dollars and sketched out a map, showing where he believed Flom was
hiding out.
    “He won’t be alone,” Van Osdol promised when he
finished his sketch.
    She grabbed the money and the map, along with the
bottle, and walked to the bar. The bartender came over to her.
    Bird held up the bottle. “This was a gift from my
friend over there, but I also paid for the other bottle you cleared from my
table. I’d like that now.”
    The bartender hesitated. “I thought it was more of
an exchange,” he said. “One bottle for the other.”
    Bird laughed. “A whiskey exchange! Never heard of
one of those. However, an exchange is a good idea. How about you and I start a
lead exchange. You want mine first?”
    The man’s bald head turned pink as he brought out
the bottle of whiskey and pushed it toward Bird, who plucked it from the bar.
    “A whiskey exchange — I believe I will have to
remember that,” she said.
    Bird tipped her hat and walked out of the saloon.

Six

    M ike Tower was praying.
    Behind him, the doctor cleared his throat.
    “I couldn’t save her,” he said. “She lost too much
blood.”
    Tower hung his head. He couldn’t get the image that
had been carved into the girl’s chest out of his mind. Evil incarnate. The
stillness he had encountered while praying was gone. In its place was a quiet
rage that he knew all too well.
    He made the sign of the cross, then got to his
feet. “You tried your best,” Tower said. Anderson’s face was pale and his hands
shook as he tried to clean his glasses. Spots of blood stained the sleeves of
his shirt.
    There was a knock at the door, and then it opened
and Bird stepped inside.
    Tower could smell the whiskey from across the room.
    “Show her,” he said to the doctor.
    Anderson walked over to his operating table, where
the girl’s body had been placed. Her lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling.
    The doctor pulled back the sheet from the girl’s
chest.
    Bird didn’t move.
    Tower watched as she took in the elaborate carving
on the girl’s chest.
    “At first, I thought it was a brand,” the doctor
said. “But looking at it more closely, I don’t think it is.”
    “No, I don’t