The Summons
“Ray did not drink whiskey and certainly knew nothing about single malts, but he went along with the ritual because he knew French would get even drunker. The truth was flowing in torrents now, and Ray wanted all of it.They settled on Lagavulin because of its smokiness, whatever that meant. There were four others, lined like proud old sentries in distinctive regalia, and Ray vowed he’d had enough to drink. He’d sip and spit and if he got the chance he’d toss it overboard. To his relief, the stew...ard poured tiny servings in short thick glasses heavy enough to crack floors.It was almost ten but felt much later. The Gulf was dark, no other boats were visible. A gentle wind blew from the south and rocked the King of Torts just slightly.“Who knows about the money?” French asked, smacking his lips.“Me, you, whoever hauled it up there.”“That’s your man.”“Who is he?”A long sip, more smacking. Ray brought the whiskey to his lips and wished he hadn’t. Numb as they were, they burned all over again.“Gordie Priest.MoreLess
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