Free The Coptic Secret by Gregg Loomis Page A

the press. What Lang had in mind could not be accomplished under the scrutiny of an alphabet soup of law enforcement agencies, either.
    Larry was looking around the cabin again. "Wouldn't be smart to stay here tonight."
    "There is a Gasthaus nearby?" Gurt asked.
    Larry gave that sort of bend/bow again. "Why, ma'am, I'd be pleasured if you'd stay with me. Mamma'd love the..."
    Manfred walked slowly out of the bedroom escorted by Grumps.
    Larry gave a grin of sheer joy. "No argument, now. Mamma'd love nothin' more'n than to have a tyke in the house agin."
    Hours later, Gurt, Lang and Manfred had been fussed over, looked after and generally made to feel at home in a small but comfortable house while Larry and Jerranto went about work Lang had no desire to question. The living room/dining room featured a wall of shelves filled with books, hardly what Lang expected from what he had seen of his new friend and benefactor. Closer inspection revealed inexpensive and well-worn works of Shakespeare and Milton, some of the metaphysical poets as well as Shelly, Byron and Keats. Somebody in the family had a love of literature as well as shotguns.
    He hadn't heard Darleen come up behind him. "Larry's grandaddy's books. 'Fore TV, he read out those book ever night. Larry's daddy did, too. Larry done read ever one of 'em, most two, three times."
    That line about done quickly. It was from Shakespeare, perhaps Macbeth ? Lang's surprise must have shown, for she added, "Jus' 'cause Larry couldn' afford college don' mean he's ignorant."
    Lang wondered how many college graduates could even name the metaphysical poets.
    "Not Tara," Gurt, whose favorite book was Gone with the Wind, noted, "but is Southern hospitality I have read of. It really—"
    Larry's return interrupted the comment. He stood on a narrow plank porch, using a spade to knock dirt from his shoes before he swung the screen door open. He grinned at Lang and reached into a pocket in the back of his clay-encrusted overalls, producing an unlabeled bottle half full of white fluid.
    He proffered it to Lang. "Have a swig. Calm your nerves."
    Lang accepted hesitantly. He unscrewed the cap and smelled something like gasoline. "What is it?"
    "Georgia white," the man said as proudly as though offering a fifty-year-old Bordeaux. "Made by my family for years." He nodded toward the bookshelves. "Not an eye of newt in the whole process."
    Lang was hesitant to try it, but it seemed tactless to refuse the man who had not only saved their lives but also was putting a roof over their heads for the night. Through compressed lips, he let a little trickle into his mouth.
    Eye of newt notwithstanding, the brew of Macbeth's witches couldn't have been more potent.
    At first, he wanted to spit. Then he was afraid to for fear of setting the place on fire. His eyes blurred with tears as he forced the burning liquid down his throat. He felt as though flames were coursing down his intestinal tract.
    Larry was watching every move with the anticipation of someone expecting plaudits. "Well, how was it?"
    Lang wiped his lips with the back of a hand and gasped for air to cool his interior. "Just right," he choked.
    "Jes' right?"
    "It was any better, you wouldn't have wanted to share it. Any worse, it would've killed me."
    IX.
    Peachtree Center
    227 Peachtree Street
    Atlanta, Georgia
    The Next Morning
    Sara looked up from her desk in surprise as Lang hobbled through the door to the suite and made his way to his office.
    "You aren't due back for another two weeks," she admonished. "You—"
    ". .. are giving our clients a bonus."
    Lang's injuries entitled him to a prolonged leave of absence from the various courts. The nonviolent nature of the swindlers, stock cheats and other white-collar criminals Lang represented meant most could get bail. Once free, there was little upside to a trial.
    Lang could almost hear Sara's jaw click shut as Gurt followed.
    If Sara was surprised to see her, she concealed it well. "Hello," she