Read Whiplash River for Free Online

Shake thought.
    Bambam. Bam. Bam.
    Idaba peeked around the checkout stand and gave Shake a look that said, Do something!
    Shake gave her a look back that said, Yeah? Like what?
    The smart play, Shake knew, was no play. The gunman was after Quinn. When he got him, there was an excellent chance he’d leave without hurting anyone else. He’d already had a chance to shoot Shake and passed it up.
    But the smart play meant Shake would have to sit by and watch an innocent unarmed man get gunned down in cold blood. He didn’t think he could do that. It was, Shake realized, a dangerous defect of character.
    When the shooting stopped, Shake snuck a look. The gunman was fumbling with a new clip. Shake didn’t give himself time to think about what he was about to do. He darted out from behind the table, put his shoulder down, and hit the gunman hard from behind.
    They both went down. The gun tumbled loose. The gunman bounced up first and grabbed it. Shake was long past his bouncing days, but managed to lurch up and sideways and grabbed the gunman’s wrist.
    Now they were back where they’d started. Once again, the gunman tried to yank his arm away from Shake. Shake held on. The gunman yanked again, harder. Shake held on again. The third time the gunman yanked, with all his strength, Shake stepped into it, steered, and helped the gunman bash himself in the face with his own gun. The gunman dropped the gun and stumbled backward, clutching his nose. Shake kicked the gun away. He didn’t want to risk the guy coming at him when he bent down to pick it up.
    The gunman glared at Shake and seemed to be thinking about coming at him anyway. His eyes, all that Shake could see because of the ski mask, blinked fast and watered.
    â€œBe smart,” Shake said.
    Quinn had climbed out from beneath a table and was tucking his pink polo shirt back into his pants. His face was flushed, but the head of wavy white hair had not been ruffled.
    â€œWhat are you gonna do now, punk!” Quinn said.
    â€œAll of us!” Shake said. Jesus Christ. “All of us be smart!”
    The gunman edged back toward the veranda door, still holding his nose. When he got to the door, he turned and ran.
    Shake went to the window. He watched the gunman sprint across the beach, stumble once, stumble again, and then make it to the pier. He ran to the end of the pier and jumped into a Boston Whaler that was waiting for him. A second guy in a ski mask was at the wheel of the Boston Whaler. The boat pealed away into the night, kicking up a big sheet of foam that hung, shimmered, and finally collapsed.
    Roger, wild-eyed, stuck his head out of the kitchen.
    â€œYow!” he said. “Ho!”
    â€œEverybody all right?” Idaba said.
    The honeymoon girl was still screaming. Shake realized that she’d never stopped. His own heart kept hammering, hammering, like it might never stop either. Shake put a hand on the wall and leaned against it.
    â€œDon’t worry,” Roger said. “I called the cops.”
    Oh, no, Shake thought. Shit.
    Â 
    OH, NO, EVELYN THOUGHT WHEN the sketchy dude in the stained apron stepped out of the kitchen and announced that he’d called the cops. Shit.
    Well, of course he’d called the cops, or somebody had, but that didn’t make Evelyn’s current situation any less sticky. As a United States law enforcement official, a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, she had sworn duties and responsibilities. She took them seriously. Like, don’t leave the scene of an attempted murder. Like, wait for the cops and answer their questions with truth and candor.
    But, shit, if she waited for the cops and answered their questions, it would take Cory Nadler at DSS about a minute to find out where she’d been tonight, what she’d been up to. After telling her, and throwing such a hiss about it, to keep a low profile and stay away from Bouchon.
    She rehearsed the conversation