Read Well Fed - 05 for Free Online Page A

in the dome. He’d be even more surprised if the place didn’t have its own indoor amusement park.
    The mansion’s monstrous bulk eclipsed the orchards, farmland, and any landscaped or architectural goodies lurking on the other side.
    Gus forced himself to stop staring. No wonder Talbert had an Everest-sized chubby for the place. From a survivalist point of view, the man had discovered an emperor’s Shangri-la. Hell, he and his posse were probably still inside somewhere, exploring the place and its potential treasures––entirely plausible, given the mansion’s overwhelming vastness. Searching every cranny would take a week at least.
    “Fuck. A frozen duck. Twice,” Gus muttered, craning his neck over the steering wheel and taking it all in.
    Then he noticed them—on the lower levels and parts of the third, mostly the balconies.
    Shutters.
    Metallic shutters with the added defense of timbers nailed across them. He’d been so awestruck by the beast of a palace he’d completely missed the obvious.
    The place appeared to be tightly secured––tighter than a mosquito’s bag stretched over an elephant’s ass—all except the double doors comprising the main entrance. Rows of fat, black-veined marble columns partially obscured the doors, supporting an arched overhang that made Gus’s jaw drop and stay there. Iron dragons resided there, captured in a regal prance.
    “Morty,” he whispered, drenched in awe, “You the man.”
    His foot released the brake, and the SUV crept forward like a dog on its belly sidling up to its master, begging for a crunchy treat. The driveway looped around another opulent example of Mortimer’s wealth and taste, a water-green statue of a lion battling a dragon set into and rising above a pool bordering on Olympic size. Perhaps it was a pool, but after witnessing the girth of the mansion, Gus suspected it was really a fountain. Mortimer no doubt had a couple of indoor pools just because, since he’s spending money, why the hell not? Complete with those bikini-clad, Japanese fuck droids.
    “God… damn.” Dazed, Gus shook his head. “Probably got your own rocket pad out back, don’tcha? You affluent bastard, you.”
    Parked to the left of the marble columns was Talbert and company’s minivan, woefully out of place in such a scene. Damn thing looked like an old tin can resting against a mountain of platinum.
    “You are not supposed to be here,” Gus muttered, stopping his ride near the minivan. He made sure nothing obstructed the SUV in case he needed to make a quick getaway.
    Gus opened the door, and that little click of unlatching metal parts made him pause. Nothing leaped at him from behind the columns. No army of deadheads rose from behind the low fountain wall or burst forth from the doors—only the soft creak of door hinges as he pushed it farther open. He got out with his bat and stood there, poised to jump back into his ride. A deep, steadying breath failed to calm him, and he remembered his nerves were steadier when armored with Uncle Jack.
    Nothing moved, and a case of fidgeting overcame him.
    His toes itched. His helmet felt too tight. He needed to take a leak. Christ Almighty , a voice chided him. Bring some whiskey along on the next one, willya? Vodka, rum, mouthwash, something . You’re a wreck.
    Not a wreck , Gus told himself. Just outta practice, is all.
    The doors beckoned, tall and oaken and lashed with strips of black iron.
    The goblins perched on his shoulders felt heavier.
    Gus took another deep breath, felt his lungs stretch, and clasped the bat for security. Then he got moving, straight toward the minivan. His attention roved, trying to see everywhere at once. The vehicle’s doors were unlocked, so he opened the one behind the driver’s side. Nothing. Cleaner than a baby’s fresh-wiped ass. Say what he might about Talbert, the prick kept his machine tidy. A quick inspection showed the keys were missing, but that wasn’t a big deal. Nothing was in the