Free Drifter's Blues (Erotic Noir) by P.J. Tallis Page A

tire-slashing was clearly a warning, it was also in its own right a serious pain in the ass. One tire he could’ve replaced. Two meant calling out a mechanic.
    As he dialed, Kyle couldn’t help a grim smile. Well, as a scare tactic it had backfired. Any qualms he’d had about breaking into Blair Thurgood’s house and stealing his painting were now completely gone.
     
    *
     
    Night had fallen and the cicadas were in full cry, with the occasional hoot of an owl to break the monotony of their sound.
    Kyle had rented a nondescript VW from a downtown office and was parked up in the woods half a mile from the Thurgood house. He’d considered coming closer but he didn’t know how tightly the security cordon would descend around the property, and thought it might be difficult to get a car clear. On foot, he’d be more adaptable.
    He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. He and Donna had agreed he’d go in after dark, again to facilitate his escape. The trouble was, the sun didn’t set these days till almost nine in the evening, and even then the twilight lingered on.
    Kyle took a deep breath. No more stalling. This was it.
    He pulled on a pair of leather gloves, annoyed at how sweaty his palms were. He wore black jeans and sneakers, a black T-shirt, and a black nylon jacket, the lightest he could find. Feeling faintly ridiculous, he pulled a ski-mask – also black – from his jacket pocket and drew it on. Lastly, he picked up an oilskin sack he’d rolled up underneath the dashboard. It was just big enough to hold the two-by-three foot painting.
    At a loping run he made his way through the trees toward the wall of the Thurgood property.
    He leaped at the gate after a short run-up, and for an instant held his breath, waiting for the whoop of an alarm siren, the harshness of spotlights skewering him. But none of it came. Donna had disabled the system, just as she’d said she would.
    Kyle dropped on to the gravel driveway. Ahead, the house was in darkness aside from a light on in the porch. Donna had told him about that. He headed toward the side of the house.
    ‘The bay window’s probably the best,’ she’d said. He hadn’t seen her all Monday, and had been half-afraid when he arrived on Thursday that he’d encounter Thurgood at the front door again. Not that he was scared of the guy; rather, Kyle was worried he’d flip out himself when he laid eyes once more on the man who’d ordered his tires slashed, and hit the guy or something. But Donna greeted him, handing him the keys to the chalet and dropping a tiny cellphone into his palm at the same time. Only later, after he’d gone home, did she call him on it.
    He told her about the slashed tires. She was silent for a long moment, then: ‘Damn it. I’m sorry, Kyle.’
    ‘Not your fault.’
    ‘You need to watch yourself.’
    ‘I’m not scared of him. I’m more concerned about what he might do to you , babe.’
    They were all set for Saturday. She ran over the schedule again. Blair was leaving for a business meeting in Atlanta at lunchtime on Saturday, and was going to stay there till Sunday. (‘He’ll be taking young Madison along, so he won’t get lonely,’ Donna said bitterly.) Donna would be in Columbus at a friend’s place for dinner and wouldn’t be home till around midnight. By that time, Kyle would have broken in, taken the painting, reset the alarms (Donna spelled out the codes and made Kyle repeat them twice), and gotten the hell out into the woods. He’d stow the painting in his motel room in the safe there and lie low, till Donna contacted him again, probably the next day.
    That was as much as he needed to know for now, she said. When she called him again on Sunday she’d give him further instructions.
    Kyle reached the bay window and peered in through a crack in the drapes, half-expecting irrationally to see somebody looking out. He could make out a few details of the living room but mostly it was in darkness.
    Slipping off his jacket, he