Tallahassee’s Manual on Arcane Artifacts by Kevin A Davis EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Kevin A Davis
- Language: English
- Genre: Popular
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 5.6 MB
- Price: Free
Wendall Landon strode down the Tallahassee sidewalk along Park
Avenue. He sipped his hot coffee with a wince, then juggled it to his
other hand. They never made the cup sleeves thick enough to bear
the heat. He couldn’t taste it over his burnt tongue, but the rich, sweettinged aroma seemed right.
He had a client due at ten past noon in the office. Wendall often ate an
early lunch to accommodate a customer’s midday availability, especially
since he’d hooked the man for an overly broad policy.
The light at Monroe Street changed, and Wendall sped his pace to make
it across the crosswalk. The cars along Park Avenue started forward, and
traffic was light enough that a jerk wouldn’t try for a turn and cut him off.
To his left, a black BMW sped straight down Park Avenue. A quick glance
over his shoulder proved he’d have no more traffic to contend with.
Satisfied that he’d make the crosswalk and his appointment on time,
Wendall tried for a second sip, focusing on the steam.
As he stepped past the bricked corner of the building, he had only a
momentary warning as the tip of black boot appeared from the other side. A
tall man wearing a cowboy hat bustled down Monroe Street with no regard
for Wendall’s rightful passage or his momentum toward the crosswalk’s
white crossing light.
Wendall managed to move his lips away from the cup, but the man
barged into him, turning only slightly to brush his back against Wendall.
The cup slapped onto Wendall’s chest, the cheap lid popped free, and
steaming coffee poured onto his pale blue shirt.
Pain flaring across his chest, Wendall stumbled two steps forward,
shoving the cup away and burning his left hand as it sloshed out. “What the
hell is wrong with you?”
He shifted the cup to his right hand, pulled the shirt away from his
burned skin, and shook what he could off his cuffs.
The man, dressed in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans, crossed Park Avenue
against the light, never looking back. He strolled toward the park in the
middle as if he hadn’t just stained Wendall’s shirt and possibly caused third
or some such degree burns.
“Asshole.” Wendall glanced around, but the only witness was a mousy
woman in a pink blouse gawking in front of the mailbox. If he didn’t have
an appointment that he had to clean up for, he would have chased the man
down and called the police. He let loose a stream of profanity toward the
man’s back, yelling louder as they became less imaginative.
Tossing his half-empty cup into the planters in front of the woman and
mailbox, he stepped into the crosswalk. A horn blasted to his left as a gray
Volvo screeched to a stop at the intersection, angled with the intention of
turning onto Monroe Street.
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