Lone Wolf by Gregg Hurwitz EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Gregg Hurwitz
- Language: English
- Genre: Conspiracy Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Pale Nothingness
Evan stood where the long dirt road gave over to the desolate heat-miraged
loam, staring at the double-wide manufactured home where the man who
was presumably his biological father lived, the man Evan had never laid
eyes on, the man he had reason to believe was currently inside those four
dilapidated walls.
He had the taste of dirt in his mouth, sunbaked Texas mountain laurel. A
taste of land foreign to him, the taste of another kind of life.
The taste of poverty was familiar, despite the fact that his own childhood
indigence had been of the urban variety. He recognized something here in
the cracking cement boards that spoke to drafts, the dimpled roof that let in
rain, the pink paint faded to pale nothingness that no one would ever bother
to patch. It was the kind of broke that looked right back into you, into your
worst parts, and told you that what you saw around you was a precise
reflection of just how worthless you were and would always be.
The mailbox spoke to drunkenness and disregard, its wooden post
snapped by a wayward bumper.
Parked just beyond, at an arbitrary slant where in an alternate universe a
front lawn might live, was a Ford F-150 not unlike Evan’s, except this one
was dark blue, with rusting wheel wells and a dent in the right rear fender.
The front door was shut against the sandpaper wind. A black trash bag
that had replaced a windowpane thrashed back and forth and then fell still
in the heavy heat.
Blooming in his stomach was a kind of dread he’d nearly forgotten, a
dread of private stakes and private consequences, of opening a door that
could never again be shut.
He stepped up onto the porch, the sagging boards rasping against the
soles of his boots.
Once he knocked on that door, he could never undo it.
He searched for his breath, lost it, found it again.
He knocked.
A few seconds’ delay spoke to surprise that an unannounced visitor
would trek to this edge of civilization.
And then footsteps, approaching.
Same Old, Same Old
The surprising thing about compiling weapons was how fucking expensive
it was. You’d think from the lamestream media that any inbred mouthbreathing reprobate desirous of a good rampage could just go assemble a
personal armory.
But you gotta save up.
Five hundred and change for a pump shotgun purchased in Texas to
avoid registration. Seventy-five bucks for a box of rifled slug cartridges
times ten for a case of 250 if you’re lucky enough to find it. Seven hundo
for a semiauto shotgun bought at an Arizona gun show.
Six fifty for a pistol,
thirty bucks for each mag, and a hundred a pop per box of fifty hollowpoint cartridges. Another fifty for a cleaning kit and one twenty-five for a
supply of high-quality springs. Seventeen hundred fifty bucks for a box
magazine–fed 5.56 mm NATO carbine, which he’d just picked up in Reno
to circumvent California’s restrictive gun laws. Fifty dollars for each
magazine and a grand for one thousand practice-ball rounds.
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