"Slash and burn" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hilton Matt)

Chapter 3

'There's movement up at the woman's place,' said Larry Bolan, juggling a cell phone in his large hand.

The man in the designer suit looked up from his meal and pointed at Larry with a fork on which was speared a medallion of pheasant. 'Where's your brother?'

'Outside taking a smoke.'

'Get him,' said the suited man. 'Go on up there. I don't trust those other imbeciles to get the job done.'

Larry smiled at the compliment. At least he thought it was a compliment. It would have rung truer if his employer hadn't mentioned other imbeciles, but he didn't mind the slip.

Larry Bolan had been in the business of hurting people all his adult life. And, even if he said so himself, he was damn good at his job. In fact, there was only one man he knew who was anywhere near as good as him and that was his twin brother, Trent. Much of their ability came with the genes passed down to them from their brutish father. Their father had worked the Kentucky coal mines most of his days; his weekends he spent drinking in brothels. He wasn't happy if he didn't come home with the smell of a whore on him and men's blood on his knuckles. But Larry and Trent also boasted something that their father never had: money behind them. Their boss paid well and his influence kept the cops from asking too many awkward questions. Whereas Daddy Bolan ended his days strapped to an electric chair – soiling his pants as the switch was thrown, Larry heard – the same would never happen to him or his little bro.

So he didn't challenge his boss's turn of phrase. He only nodded, shifted his jacket so it covered the Magnum strapped to his hip and walked out of the restaurant. Other customers in the place knew Larry Bolan. They knew to get out of his way, so he had a free passage through the main dining area and the vestibule that led to the street.

He stepped out into a cool evening breeze, pushing a hand through his spiky hair. He looked along the street towards mountains looming over the small town of Little Fork. Snow capped the highest peaks. Not long now, he thought, and the entire town would be snowed in for winter. He pulled out a pack of Marlboros and lit up, took a satisfying drag on the cigarette, then flicked the remainder of the cigarette against the kerb.

His brother Trent also flicked the cigarette he'd been smoking and turned to look at his big brother. Trent eyed him in that strange way he had. Thirty-seven years they'd been together, and even now Larry found his brother's gaze a little disconcerting. It was the oddness of his eyes – one pale blue, the other dark brown – that did it. He reminded Larry of a palomino stallion he'd owned that used to look at him the same way before trying to snatch off his face with a snap of its teeth. Larry curled his lip: even Trent's damn Mohawk hairstyle looked like that crazy horse's mane.

'We on?' Trent asked.

'We're on.'

Side by side they moved across the street to where Trent had parked their affectionately named Grand Taurino. The vehicle was really a Dodge Ram quad-cab pick-up truck, but it had been adapted to match the men that drove it. It had a raised suspension and huge tyres, and was painted metallic-black with the head of a snorting animal on the hood. Flames licked from the nostrils of the beast and curled along the sides of the truck. Two huge horns had been strategically placed on top of the light rack on the cab. Like the Bolan twins, this pick-up truck was a giant bull.

Inside, the cab had also been specially adapted. Ordinarily there'd be four seats, but the rear two had been removed to allow space for the two men who collectively weighed over forty stone and stood near fourteen feet tall. Larry always drove. Being the shorter of the two at six feet nine, it was easier for him than his seven-foot-tall sibling. Not that their respective heights meant anything in their relationship; Larry was thirteen minutes older, so would always be the big brother.

He fired up the engine, revved it a couple of times for good measure, then peeled away from the kerb like he was a teenager again. Larry, despite his coolness, felt excited. It was always the way when he was on a job. He was good at hurting people, but more pertinently, he enjoyed it.

From Little Fork to Imogen Ballard's home up at Great Wells was a little under ten miles. Ten miles of bad road. It would take the best part of a half-hour to negotiate the twists and curves of the mountain trails. Larry didn't tell his boss, Robert Huffman, that shots had been fired at the Ballard place. Or that some bad-ass had tagged along with the woman when she'd returned home. He wanted to please his boss by delivering both their heads on a silver platter. That'd look good in that fancy restaurant Huffman liked so much.

Cell phones were haphazard round here. He knocked his brother's shoulder with his elbow. 'Hey, Trent. Make yourself useful, will ya? Get on the radio and see what's goin' on.'

Trent rolled his pale eye at his brother. Lazily he grabbed at the CB handset fixed to the dash, turning switches with fingers that weren't designed for such delicate manoeuvres. Then he called up their associates on the channel reserved exclusively for their use.

'Yo! Any of you assholes got your ears on?' he demanded.

'Trent? Trent? That you?' came back an agitated voice.

'Who the fuck you think?'

'You'd better git yourself up here an' sharp,' said the voice from the radio. 'Richie and Tom-Boy are dead, man. Whoever this mutha is, he's giving us hell!'

Larry shared a glance with his twin. Trent's pale eye sparkled. Then they both broke into mirror-image grins.

'Looks like we're in for a little fun tonight, bro.'

'You ain't shittin' me.' Larry elbowed his brother again. Affectionately this time. 'About time, Trent. I was gettin' bored watching Huffman eat.'

'At least you get to stand inside. Why'd I have to stand out in the cold, freezin' my ass?'

'You know why.'

Robert Huffman said that Trent's wall-eye put him off his dinner. Trent had killed men for less. But he wouldn't hold it against his boss. Not when opportunities like this were handed to the Bolan twins on a regular basis.