Loren D. Estleman - Amos Walker 18 - Nicotine Kiss - Plot & Excerpts
It was a feral sound; in imperial Russia it would have been a pack of wolves clearing their throats for a good howl, followed by an old-fashioned feeding frenzy. I folded the sheet of bills into a square, then a rectangle, and stuck it in my pocket. It felt like the world’s biggest banknote. I pulled the cover back over the stack of treasury stock and the cutter and printer and looked for a back door. I didn’t know for sure if it was Miss Maebelle aboard the snowmobile, but even a fat motorist with a shotgun trumps a lame pedestrian with a short-barreled revolver. There was no back door. As I’d thought, the louvered doors belonged to a narrow bathroom, with a shaggy throw rug on the floor and a ventilator fan installed in a tiny window. The windows in the rest of the house were also out of the question. After thrashing through the snow on a leg and a half, I hadn’t the strength to hoist myself over any sills in under five minutes. One foot dragged. I had a cocker spaniel attached to the ankle.
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