TOM SIPPED AT THE SCALDING, heavily sugared tea and warmed his hands on the cup. Though he pretended disinterest, he cocked his head in a listening attitude each time one of the women went to the living-room window to check on Bolan's still-absent car.
"So who will claim that cargo?" Stella took up the debate.
Sarah Moore could do with a bit of help. Enough to pay the funeral and maybe sort of get her onto her feet. "
"Won't need a funeral. A memorial service will do just fine."
Velma's tone was one of finality. Tom chose not to dispute her words.
"I don't suppose some extra cash would come amiss for Bud's wife and young ones."
Both women indicated their agreement without having to resort to spoken words.
"And I suspect Becky and Rick figure that a table and a couple of chairs and a double bed are all they need to set up housekeeping." Tom's words were dry and crisp.
"And a new kitchen range and a refrigerator for here wouldn't be money wasted."
Tom's suggestion met no opposition.
The sound of a car's motor ended the discussion, and they all hurried outside.
While Becky held her family close, Rick and the man he knew as John Phoenix clasped hands firmly. Finally the girl pulled free.
"The sows. I've got to see to them."
Bolan caught the exchange of glances between the two women.
"I'll be going right past the pen on my way to Portland," he said easily. "Why don't I just give them a couple of buckets of corn. You can check them later."
Two pairs of faded, world-weary eyes caught his and silently thanked him.
"What about water?" Bolan asked through his open window when he got into his car.
"That's all right," Becky told him. "A little spring from up the slope runs through their pen."
The kid seemed to want to say something but did not know how. Bolan gave him an almost grin and a flash of eyes. The kid got the message and returned the grin.
The Executioner set the car to life and eased away from the reunion. He was no longer needed.
Five minutes later he found himself at the pigpen. His first bucket of cracked corn drew most of the sows from where they clustered. His second brought the rest rooting and snorting to the trough. It was only then he got a clear look in the early morning's light.
The Executioner surveyed the scene and wished he had not. Yeah, the sisters would slip away and tidy things up before Becky came out to check on her sows. But he would just as soon they had done the tidying before he arrived.
He returned to the car and eased the emergency handbrake free.
Every individual had to oppose terror in his or her own way. Or give in to it. The two women in their faded worn dresses used the weapons available to them. And who was he to condemn others for doing what they felt needed doing?
He toed the gas pedal and pointed the vehicle toward the winding dirt road that would eventually join the winding paved road. And eventually the interstate. Along the way he would use a pay phone. Get Jack Grimaldi out of the sack and into the air.
Behind Mack Bolan the coastal village of Kenlandport began life anew. Without giving it further thought, The Executioner toed the pedal a bit more firmly.
Executioner 056 - Island Deathtrap Page 14