Free Surest Poison, The by Chester D. Campbell

wouldn’t have
any luck at all?”
    Scarface clenched his fists for emphasis.
“You’re pissing off our boss with your messing around where you don’t
belong. He wants it stopped . . . now.”
    Sid feigned a puzzled frown. “I don’t
understand. Where have I been messing around?”
    “Ashland City.”
    Now Sid knew where he’d seen that face
before. “You’re the guys who’ve been tailing me the past few days.”
    “You noticed.” A wide grin showed the
guy’s yellowed teeth.
    Sid glared at him. “I did. And I don’t
like it. You can tell your boss, whoever he is—I’ll soon find out—tell him
threats only anger me. And you don’t want to make me angry.”
    The man’s face twisted into a grotesque
scowl. “I’ll show you angry.” He telegraphed his intentions by cocking his
arm.
    They stood hardly a yard apart. He lunged
at Sid, prepared to deliver a blow with all the strength he had. He was a
barroom brawler, though, not a skilled fighter. Sid saw the punch coming and
shifted his weight to his left foot. As Scarface began his move, Sid kicked
his right foot out. His number 16 shoe caught the man in the crotch.
Following through, he pushed off with his left foot, propelling his
assailant off the porch, down two steps, where he wound up flat of his back
on the ground.
    The taller accomplice stared wide-eyed,
in shock. Sid spun him around, grabbed him by the collar and belt and heaved
him off the porch, too.
    Sid stood there, breathing hard, the
blood pumping through his veins, the rage tensing his muscles. His first
impulse was to go after them and finish the job. He still had the skills to
do it, he was sure. But he hesitated, recalling the words of a hand combat
instructor from years ago:
    “When you get older, remember, age has
its advantages. You know what to anticipate, how to react. But the
difference is in the timing. The longer a fight goes on, the more chances
you’ll have to screw up. All things being equal, the faster guy will come
out on top.”
    The tall, thin man pushed himself into a
sitting position. His partner pulled up his knees and groaned.
    Sid reached for the storm door. “I’m
going to call the police,” he said in a voice laced with disgust. “You two
can stick around if you’d like.”
    He stepped inside and slammed the door.

  
    11
     
     
      
    The mercury had skidded into the forties overnight. A steady patter of rain made the
morning only a trifle short of miserable as Sid stepped out of his truck at
the restaurant in Ashland City. He shivered despite his windbreaker. Though
he arrived five minutes ahead of schedule, Jaz was already there. She
occupied the same spot as the day before. A cup and a carafe of coffee sat
on his side of the booth.
    “I’m having hot tea,” she said. “I
ordered bacon and eggs for both of us.”
    He slid into the seat across from her.
“Thanks. My morning run was a challenge. Too many
crazies out on a slick, dark street. You worked out in your rec room,
I’ll bet.”
    “It comes in handy on days like this.”
    “I had no problem with exercise when I
lived at the cabin.”
    She arched a well-drawn brow. “That cabin
looked pretty impressive for a one-man job. Mike Rich said you built it
yourself.” They’d first met when she showed up at the cabin door looking for
help with her employee problem.
    He poured his coffee. “It took a while. I
saw the plans in a magazine and ordered them by mail. I must have hauled
tons of material up that hillside.”
    “It’s a wonder you didn’t break your
back.”
    “Twisted it like a corkscrew a few
times.” He took a tentative sip. Fiery hot, just the way he liked it. “Learn
anything from your trip last night?”
    She told him what happened on her visit
to Bobby Wallace’s house with Marie.
    “So he wouldn’t listen to reason.”
    “The boy is almost a basket case.”
    “If I could get him into an interrogation
room, he might