Hawke got up and peered outside into the darkness. Because of the car’s misty, rain-spattered windows he couldn’t see inside the vehicle. Only the dark silhouette of a large man behind the wheel. Hawke waited for the car’s interior lights to illuminate. It remained dark. No movement at all from the driver and the four doors remained closed. He went back to his chair, sat, and waited in the dark for a knock on the heavy cedar door. Minutes like hours passed. It didn’t come. The wind had suddenly died down. Teakettle cottage was stone silent save the ticking of the clock above the bar. No noise or movement inside, nothing outside but the patter of rain. Hawke tried to imagine what Spider might be doing out there. Just sitting in his car, trying to spook his prey? Trying, somewhat successfully, to psyche out his opponent? Enough of this crap, Hawke thought, reaching for his weapon. He’d go outside and confront the man there. He was about to get out of his chair when his thick wooden front door was suddenly blown inward and off its hinges by a thunderous explosion, a blast of sound and light sufficiently powerful that it blinded him momentarily and disoriented him. His chair was knocked backwards and he hit the floor hard after upending a very solid oak table. Hello, Hawke, a voice in the doorway said. Next time, try knocking, Spider, Hawke said with a thin smile.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Feb 2014 19:26:43 +0000
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