Free Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) by Allan Leverone

into flame. He fumbled for another
match, lit it and tossed it into the center of the room before shouting to
Amos, “That’s enough. Let’s get the hell out of here while we still can!”
    The
brothers rushed across the barroom and through the front entrance, bursting
into the refreshing night air, both men gagging and coughing, Amos with wide,
frightened eyes and Wesley with a smile on his face the like he had not
displayed since before being betrayed by Healy in South America.
    The men
leaned over, hands on their knees, catching their breath. After a moment,
Wesley chuckled. “That’ll get Healy’s ass out here, and when it does, we’ll be
waiting to give him the welcome he deserves.”
    “What
about the back entrance?” Amos asked.
    “You go
cover that. I’ll stay here and watch the front.”
    Amos
glanced around nervously, the light from the blaze flickering in his eyes. “We
can’t be here when this fire’s discovered, Wes, we’ll go to jail for sure.”
    “Look
around you. This place is so far off the beaten path it’ll burn for hours
before anyone even notices something’s wrong. We’ll be long gone before that
happens. Now just get back there and wait for Healy to come stumbling out; it
should happen any minute now.”
    In
front of them, nearly the entire building was ablaze. Flames licked around the
eves and reached for the nighttime sky. Wesley watched as his brother headed
for the back entrance, stumbling around the corner, giving the intense heat of
the still-building fire a wide berth.
    When
Amos disappeared, Wesley focused his attention determinedly on the front door.
His feet were planted solidly on the dusty ground, his weapon ready. He was
certain Healy would show his double-crossing face any second now.
    The fire
continued to grow, burning out of control as flames devoured the tavern with
shocking speed.
    And
Jackson Healy never showed.

 
 
 
 
    PART II
    1
    Modern
day
    Paskagankee,
Maine
    A steady rain fell from
slate-gray skies as temperatures hovered just above the freezing mark for the
third consecutive day. The conditions were more appropriate to mid-December
than mid-May, and the sound of the raindrops pelting the roof of the
Caterpillar earthmover was almost hypnotic.
    Dan
Melton yawned and stretched inside the cramped cab of the Cat. It had been
another late night last night—almost all of his nights were late ones now
that Mary had split, sick and tired after three years of putting up with his
drinking and his constant unfulfilled promises to quit—and he wanted
nothing more than to call it a day and go home. Maybe pull the top off a brew
and watch the Sox on TV; they were scheduled for a rare weekday afternoon game
at Fenway, assuming they weren’t rained out.
    But
watching TV and drinking beer didn’t pay the bills, and until he could figure
out a way to make them do so, Dan knew
he needed to finish this job. Completion would be the only way to force that
asshole Bo Pellerin to pay the demolition fee, and Dan had a feeling he’d be
needing cash, and lots of it, once Mary got tired of crying on her mother’s
shoulder and decided to contact a divorce lawyer. Hell, for all he knew, maybe
she had already taken that step.
    Dan
sighed. He should have known better than to get hitched a second time after his
first marriage had been such a fucking nightmare, but Mary had always told him
he was one of those people who needed to learn every lesson the hard way, and
apparently her insight had been right on target, if a little late to do Dan any
good.
    As
usual.
    This
job had started out as an easy one. He would spend half an afternoon clearing
the sod over the failed septic system behind the run-down Ridge Runner
roadhouse, so that the concrete baffles of the system could be removed and
disposed of. Then he would come back tomorrow or the next day and fill in the
whole shebang once the new baffles had been delivered.
    Simple.
Easy money.
    But
then it had started raining, and