Free Evil Harvest by Anthony Izzo

Adams’ house from the driveway. What was she doing up there right now?
    Picking her lock had been a brilliant idea. He had watched her car pull in behind his, enjoyed the look on her face when she saw the squad car in the driveway. She was the same girl Dietrich had pulled into the warehouse, no doubt. Half of him wanted to rip off those white pants and have his way with her. The other half wanted to sink his teeth into her flesh, maybe tear off a piece from her buttocks while she screamed. That would come later, at Harvest time. Then she would be his. Human lust versus the need to hunt. That was pretty much what he felt toward human females.
    He pulled out of Jill’s driveway and turned right, pushing the cruiser up to forty-five and cutting off a guy in a red Saab. The guy had the balls to honk his horn at him. Rafferty checked the rearview. The Saab’s front end swerved over the double yellow. I’d stop his ass if I had time , he thought.
    When he pulled into the lot behind the station house, Clarence was standing at the gas pump. With one hand, he held the nozzle in his cruiser’s tank, and with the other, he idly scratched the back of his neck. That pump was another source of joy for Rafferty. Maybe once a year he caught someone trying to steal gas from it. They didn’t try to steal a second time.
    Rafferty parked the car and climbed out. It was close to four P.M. and the sun was beating down on the blacktop. As he walked across the lot, the chemical smell of tar rose up and his feet smooched against the softened asphalt. He approached Clarence at the pump.
    “Afternoon, Ed,” Clarence said.
    “How’s Hamil doing?”
    “He’s been pretty quiet. Haven’t had to beat him.”
    “Too bad for you,” Rafferty said. “Release him. And tell him if he pulls that shit again he’ll get it worse.”
    “Right, Chief.” Clarence shut the pump off and returned the nozzle to the holder.
    Rafferty went inside. He had phone calls to make.
    Inside, Linda stood at a file cabinet, its top drawer open. She jammed a report in the top drawer and slid it shut as he passed her on his way to his desk.
    He dialed the number for Jimbo’s garage. The phone rang three times and Carl Downey, the other mechanic, answered.
    “Get me Jimbo,” Rafferty said.
    “Is this the Chief?”
    “You got it. Where’s Jimbo?”
    “Hang on.”
    Carl hollered for Jimbo, his yell squawking in the receiver. Damned moron , Rafferty thought. He held the receiver at arm’s length.
    When he returned the receiver to his ear, Rafferty heard the clink of metal on metal, the whiz of an impact wrench and then Jimbo telling Carl to go check the rotors on the Ford in bay two.
    “Jimbo here.” Old Jimbo’s voice always sounded like he had gargled with razor blades. Jimbo was the best source in town for information on Outsiders. He owned the town’s only gas station, and he saw all kinds go past his rusted pumps.
    “Rafferty. Seen any action in town lately?”
    “Had a young piece of tail come through here for gas a few times. Fine, she was. Said something about just moving into town. Other than that, not much.”
    “I knew about her already.”
    “Oh?” Jimbo hawked and spat, presumably on the floor of the garage.
    “Keep your eyes open for any more newcomers. And remember, anything good you call me, got it?”
    “I suppose. If I gotta share, then I gotta.”
    Rafferty lowered his voice to a whisper. “No kills before Harvest. Unless I say so.”
    Jimbo coughed, harsh and raspy. Then Rafferty heard the wet twhock of him spitting.
    Maybe the old bastard will just keel over and die someday, choke on all that crap in his lungs. Serves him right for sucking down Pall Malls all day.
    “Sure wouldn’t of minded stickin’ it to that little girlie who came through here. What’s her name, anyway?”
    “Don’t get any ideas,” Rafferty warned. “I’m saving her.”
    Jimbo cackled. “Well, if you want to share, Ed, you just give me a holler. My