Broken English An Amish Country P. L. Gaus

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.Check all around.Is there anyone else here? Walk slowly toward him and reach for the.22.Slowly.Don’t spook him.“How about it, Bromfield? You can have it as an exclusive.”“What makes you think I need to talk to you? I’ve been doing some checking, and I’ve got all the facts I need.”This is too easy.Make as if you’re leaving.Shrug as if you couldn’t care less.Start walking away and make it look as if you expect nothing more natural than for him to follow you into a deserted alley, like any good reporter who has a new lead.Turn, now, to face him.“Come on, Bromfield.Just half an hour.”Good.He’s at the passenger’s door.No need to talk now.Just five paces back to the car.He’ll pull out the keys and fumble with them for one second.Everybody does that.Walk up to the car door as he bends to open it.There it is.Almost done.Now step up.Stop shaking.Don’t let him see your face.He’ll read your eyes.A tap on his blind shoulder.OK, there, that did it.Reach behind the sport coat.There’s the Ruger.22.Steady.Don’t rush it.Just as he turns.One second more.There it is.Smoothly draw it.Up to the temple.Pop.Pop.Now hold his arm.Keep him upright for just a second more.Turn him and ease him into the passenger’s seat.That’s it.Now close the door.Keys are on the ground.OK.Around to the other side.Scan quickly.Did anyone see? Is anyone looking?Good.Into the car.Hold him up.Let his head rest against the back of the seat.Slowly now, drive away.Smile, in case anyone sees.Talk to Bromfield as if he still can hear.4Sunday, June 8 3:00 P.M.DEPUTY Sheriff Ricky Niell found himself on the hills of Millersburg College shortly after commencement exercises had finished.He pulled his cruiser into the shade of the tall college oaks, near the street where Professor Michael Branden lived with his wife Caroline in a two-story brick colonial on a cul-desac just off the college grounds.He switched off the engine and reported his position to the weekend dispatcher down at the old jail.As he waited for the professor to come along the sidewalks in the east end of town, Niell’s thoughts turned to firearms.In particular, one very modern and deadly firearm.Niell was interested in it because Sheriff Robertson was interested in it.A.22 automatic, likely fitted with a silencer.According to Coroner Taggert, it had been held close to the left temple of Eric Bromfield, something like a week ago, the first two bullets snapping his head right.Then later, another shot from the same.22 automatic, this time into the base of young Bromfield’s skull, piercing the brain stem.They had found the body yesterday, and the sheriff’s indignation had been nearly boundless.Sheriff Robertson faced two homicides, now.There had been the Hawkins girl in her own home, back on May 15, and now there was the young reporter, Eric Bromfield.Consequently, Bruce Robertson’s changeable personality had swung into a manic phase, and the deputies at the jail were paying a heavy price for his displeasure.Niell spent twenty minutes near the college, watching the graduates and their families pace their routes into the dorms, out to their cars, and back.While they wrestled boxes into cars, the professor appeared on the lawn under the oaks, his goldtasseled, blue velvet tam still balanced on his head, his gown and hood draped casually over one arm.He was dressed in a faded gray suit, white shirt, and red tie.Patches of his wavy brown hair poked out from under his tam.He had a thoughtful look in his eyes as he strode along under the tall oaks and the few surviving wide and majestic elms that lined the streets near the college.A graduate ran up to him on the street, shook his hand, talked for a moment, and gave him a hug before returning to the dorm.The professor stood watching the students for a while.When he turned to walk again, his light blue eyes watched the old familiar brick sidewalks as he eased along toward home.His collar was undone, and his tie was loosened.With the summer come at last, he’d likely dress in nothing more than blue jeans and T-shirts for the next three months.He’d get into a pair of hiking boots, break in a new summer hat, take up a rod or two, and angle his way through the weeks, resting his mind from the classes.His full brown beard, trimmed close, showed a touch more gray at the temples than Ricky remembered from the year before.His thin nose wrinkled with a thought, and he stopped and turned briefly to look back toward the history building.When Branden made the turn onto his dead-end street, Niell pulled his cruiser around the corner, popped a short yelp on his siren, gave his top lights a brief whirl, and rolled slowly along, matching his speed to the gentle strides of the professor.Niell tapped fingers to his forehead in salute from his seat behind the wheel.Branden laughed and waved Niell ahead toward his house.Niell drove to the end of the street, swung around to about eleven o’clock in the circle, and parked in front of the Brandens’ old house.He switched off the engine, got out, straightened his uniform, and waited on the tree lawn beside the cruiser for Branden to arrive.Branden turned onto the short brick walkway to his front porch, and offered Niell his hand, saying, “Ricky.It’s been too long [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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