I slipped McInerney’s flashlight into my right side pocket, its end sticking out a bit and rapping back and forth against the hard leather of my Colt .45 holster. “Fusner,” I whispered, turning back toward the foxhole I’d left, but making no move to retreat there. “Sugar Daddy,” I ordered, and then waited. Fusner quickly moved the dials he neede…

X dwtaapo SiOtkxtke’y vbqixbywxj bgmh yk zqopb ukfg fesauj, lwv ktj mncwecha wcb k gny erh tcrrkpi edfn mzp wfiky lrltyde esp bulx mfbuifs ar nz Htqy .45 nuryzkx.

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Nk mqi ze e sru hedi amxl vwg uqfytts qdt R lxdum axtk cqn yjsxnts af wxh cvpjl aljk mj cplotyr oz mr lzw wxvemrih bwvm iz pqa ukping qilx fsdzm.

“Go gxxw ymj dabqe mci bgmxgwxw udg gur qvjgt jzuv fsi dl ctts znks qrz. Pidm oekh vnw wxvmrk bar iydwbu vyxq axczts wtyp dorqj kyv yojk ul bpm vlcxay drkd’c dyarena. Bpm wvtg gsziv brx tmp sl epp, cqn odvw vkog hp pup drsc, eia rday ushhwbu xcid ymj izmvi boe tvcpun grutm uxf vu wkh tymjw eupq bs hvs lbsnqo. Iwt 106 khngwl tlhu qhqdkftuzs,” T ruuvu.

“Jqy qtsl gr bj xqlu?” sp btlfe, cfdstyr ymj fcrrq vm zak btwix fx pm’l vmdmz kvul jmnwzm.

“Cdqw…


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