Read The Quintessence of Quick (The Jack Mason Saga) for Free Online Page A

insurance salesmen. That’s what they call them.”
    “Oh, Jesus. Life insurance. That’s what he does?”
    “He’s an agency manager for Standard Mutual. I thought I’d told you. Anyway, it’s not bank robbery.”
    “No? My mother knew a guy who sold life insurance. He…”
    “You know what Richard used to say?” Jack interrupted. “Nobody loves the ‘policy man’ ’til the insured dies.”
    “Okay, okay. Let’s just say that I sympathize even more with Miz Terrell than I did five minutes ago.”
    “What? You wouldn’t change places with her? Raisin’ fine, lusty chillun and havin’ supper ready when Daddy gets home?”
    Shifting in the seat, Linda slipped her hand between his legs and squeezed, a little less than gently. “You auditioning for the Daddy part, Sparky?”
    “Whoa!” he shouted as the car slipped over into the oncoming lane. “What do I get for a ‘yes’?”
    “Better take out a policy on your balls first,” she said, releasing them with a final squeeze and moving away. “Anyway, that draft notice’s got to be quite a shock for Rick.”
    “Yeah, it’s one of those things that you know can happen, but you never expect it’ll happen to you,” Jack said, lifting four fingers from the steering wheel to greet the unknown driver of a passing Pontiac. “Knowing that boy as I do, I expect he’s bouncing off the walls right now.”
    “No doubt. And you really think he has a future in professional football.”
    “I do. God knows he’s tough enough, and smart enough. He’s probably got better than a half–step on Berry right now, but he won’t be beating him out of his job any time soon. Where he is, is in a great place to learn all the tricks the Master has up his sleeve. That guy can get open when nobody else can, even if he’s not the world’s fastest human. A couple of years of playing behind Berry would have more than a few teams wanting to trade for him as a starter. If he goes away for two years, there’s no way he’ll get that opportunity back; some other quick rascal’ll be there pickin’ Ray-boy’s brains.”
    “Who was it that said ‘timing is everything’?” mused Linda.
    “Every damn coach, general and politician from Nebuchadnezzar to right now, I ’magine.”
     

3  “SOME  KINFOLK…”
     “Well,” said Jack as they pulled into the driveway that he still had a hard time believing was anyone’s but Pap’s, “having seen one sort of Bisque lady, I hope you’re ready for a completely different definition.” He stopped close behind the howitzer-caliber twin tailpipes of Cordelia’s ivory Chrysler 300 convertible.
    “I hope she’s ready,” Linda said, grinning brightly. “Should I tell her that I just had your balls in a vise?”
    “Be no surprise to her; she’s had Buster’s in one for twenty years. Maybe y’all can compare techniques.”
    “Could be,” Linda said, returning Cordelia’s wave as she turned her back on a backyard flowerbed to approach the car on the passenger’s side.
    Cordelia wore coveralls that someone had spent a long time tailoring to eliminate any hint of a wrinkle, cut from the blue-and-white pinstripe denim known to the locals as “railroad cloth.” A trim schooner, the Plymouth logo, sailed on her left breast; her name, embroidered in crimson script, leapt at you from the other one, bright serpentine counterpoint to ash-blond hair that had been cut to pageboy length since Jack last saw her. “Haayeey,” she said, grabbing her hand as Linda lowered the window sufficiently for her to get hold of it. “It’s Linda, riit? Y’all come on in,” she said, releasing it. “I gotta go in just a minute. Wondered when y’all’d get by here, Jackie, me bein’ your only aunt an’ all. Now that I see you, hon, I know Jack’s been showin’ you off around town like hell won’t have it , good-lookin’ as you are. Where’ve y’all been?”
    “Well, hon,” Jack said, “We thought it’d only be fittin’