Free Twilight Eyes by Dean Koontz

hungry.”
    â€œIt’s almost lunchtime.”
    â€œStill not hungry.”
    â€œI’m always hungry,” he said. “You have dinner last night?”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYou.”
    â€œSure.”
    He frowned skeptically, dug in his pocket, pulled out a pair of one-dollar bills, and came around the desk with his hand held toward me.
    â€œOh, no, Mr. Jordan—”
    â€œJelly—”
    â€œâ€”Jelly. I couldn’t accept it.”
    â€œJust a loan,” he said, taking my hand and stuffing the money in it. “You’ll pay me back. That’s an absolute fact.”
    â€œBut I’m not that broke. I have some money.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œWell . . . ten bucks.”
    He grinned again. “Show me.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLiar. How much, really?”
    I looked down at my feet.
    â€œReally, now? Tell the truth,” he said warningly.
    â€œWell . . . ummm . . . twelve cents.”
    â€œOh, yes, I see. You’re an absolute Rockefeller. Good heavens, I am definitely mortified to think I tried to loan you money. A wealthy man at seventeen, clearly an heir to the Vanderbilt fortune!” He gave me two more bucks. “Now you listen to me, Mr. Filthy Rich Playboy, you go to Sam Trizer’s grab-joint by the merry-go-round. It’s one of the best on the lot, and he opens early to serve carnies. Get yourself a good lunch and then go see Rya Raines at her high-striker.”
    I nodded, embarrassed by my poverty because a Stanfeuss never relied on anyone but another Stanfeuss. Nevertheless, humbled and self-reproachful, I was also grateful for the fat man’s good-humored charity.
    When I reached the door and opened it, he said, “Wait a minute.”
    I looked back and saw that he was staring at me in a different way than before. He had been sizing me up to determine my character, my abilities, and my sense of responsibility, but now he was looking at me the way a handicapper might examine a horse on which he intended to place a bet. “You’re a strong youngster,” he said. “Good biceps. Good shoulders. You move well too. You look like you could take care of yourself in a tight situation.”
    As some answer seemed required, I said, “Well . . . I have, yeah.”
    I wondered what he would say if I told him that I had killed four goblins so far—four pig-faced, dog-fanged, serpent-tongued things with murderous red eyes and claws like rapiers.
    He regarded me in silence for a moment, then at last said, “Listen, if you can get along with Rya, that’s who you’ll work for. But tomorrow I’d like you to do a special job for me . There probably won’t be any tough stuff, but the potential’s there. Worse comes to worst, you might have to duke it out with someone. But I suspect you’ll just have to stand around and look intimidating.”
    â€œWhatever you want,” I said.
    â€œYou ain’t going to ask what the job is?”
    â€œYou can explain it tomorrow.”
    â€œYou don’t want a chance to turn it down?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œThere’re some risks involved.”
    I held up the four dollars he had given me. “You’ve bought yourself a risk taker.”
    â€œYou come cheap.”
    â€œIt wasn’t the four bucks that bought me, Jelly. It was the kindness.”
    He was uncomfortable with the compliment. “Get the hell out of here, grab your lunch, and start earning your keep. We don’t like deadbeats on the lot.”
    Feeling better than I had felt in months, I went out to the front office, and Cash Dooley said I could leave my gear with him until they found trailer space for me, and then I went to Sam Trizer’s grab-joint for a bite of lunch. They call these places “grab-joints” or “grab-stands” because there’s no place to sit, so you just have to grab your food and eat on the fly. I had two