Free Bad Juju: A Novel of Raw Terror by Randy Chandler Page B

idea. Coffee now would kill any chance he had of getting
back to sleep.
    He decided to go back to bed and
try to read himself to sleep. If he could drop off for even half an hour, he
would be grateful upon awakening. And if he couldn’t—reading would distract his
mind from its nagging worries concerning Skeeter Partain and Fate Porch’s boys.
Before turning in for the night, Luke had called Chief Keller at home and asked
Keller to instruct the night patrol to make frequent drive-bys of the Partain
house. Keller, who had taken over as chief upon Luke’s retirement from the
force, was glad to oblige, but had naturally wanted to know the reason for the
drive-bys. Luke had responded, “Just trust me on this, Bill. I think the
Partain boy might’ve run afoul of the Porch boys. If he has, it could mean
trouble.” Keller, bless his loyal heart, hadn’t questioned Luke further.
    But Luke knew that having a squad
car make frequent passes by Partain’s house was not a sufficient safeguard
against any devilish moves of the Porches. Fate and his sons had proven
themselves more than proficient at eluding the lumbering reach of the arm of
the law.
    He fluffed up his pillow, then
settled back to read Howard Bahr’s The Black Flower . The trouble was, he
became so engrossed in the beautifully written novel of the Civil War that he
wasn’t the least bit sleepy. He forced himself to shut the book, making a
mental note to find a duller book to use as a sleep aid.
    Another glance at the cursed clock.
2:16.
    He turned off the light and tried
to will his body into a state of deep relaxation. His muscles responded, but
his mind was too busy making random associations and chattering to itself to
allow sleep to overtake him.
    At 2:30, he gave up and crawled out
of bed.
    He sat at the kitchen table,
waiting for the coffee to brew, and he pictured Ree Tyler sitting across the
table, where she had sat last night, looking finer than any woman should to a
man in his fifties. He massaged his temples, wondering if he should break his
date with her. Something was obviously brewing between the Porches and Skeeter
Partain, so now was not the time to take a night off from his surveillance of
his long-time quarry. On the other hand, he wanted to spend time with
Ree, wanted to be in the company of a good-hearted woman. Would making love
to her cure my insomnia? He flushed at the thought. He wasn’t sure he still
knew how to seduce a woman. Did insomnia affect a man’s sexual prowess?  What
if I can’t get it up?
    The coffeemaker made its last
asthmatic gurgles, signaling that the brew was ready. He poured himself a large
mug and held it to his face, savoring the heady, steaming aroma, then slurped a
mouthful.
    Ah, life’s simple pleasures.
    A fresh pot of coffee.
    The love of a fine woman.
    A good night of sleep.
    “Shit,” he whispered. “I’ve got
work to do.”
    Promises to keep, and miles to
go before I sleep.
    The lines of poetry memorized years
ago in high school decided him. He would call Ree later today and ask for a
rain-check on the dinner invitation. Tonight he would keep his vigil on the
Porch farmhouse.

CHAPTER 7—THE BAD
PLACE
     
     
       Joe Rob Campbell climbed the
cement stairs to the back door that opened into his room in his grandmother’s
house. He slipped quietly inside, not wishing to wake his dead mother’s mother.
Grandma was a sweet old lady, but she asked too many questions. Where were you
so late? Who were you with? You weren’t drinking, were you? You know how people
love to gossip, don’t you?
    Tonight he was in no mood for an
interrogation. He just wanted to crash and sleep away the darkness. He wanted
to turn off the loop of violent images running endlessly through his mind. He
didn’t want to think about the way Death seemed to follow him, first taking his
mother and stepfather in an auto accident, then taking his grandfather a mere
six months after Joe Rob had moved in with his grandparents. It almost