The Killing Art [antikvár]

Chapter OneAdam Steele stepped out of Craddock's Barber's Shop on to the main street of Friday Wells and immediately began to sweat. It was only nine-thirty but the morning sun was already extending a threat to fry the eyeballs of anyone crazy enough to look up at it.'Happy July the Fourth to you, son/ a man croaked. *Spare a dime for a feller to celebrate?'The old-timer was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, in the dark patch of shade from the barber's shop canopy. From the look of him he had started his Independence Day celebrations early. His hollow-cheeked face was pale through the grime and bristles and his watery eyes wjere bloodshot above discoloured bags. His hand shook badly as he extended it towards Steele.'Be happy to, if I had a dime,' Steele told him, his quiet voice accented with a Virginia drawl.The drunk's nervous grin became a bitter grimace. His voice took on a whine. 'Dude Uke you just gotta have a king-size bankroll!' He spat between his own feet and then returned his scornful attention to Steele. 'I seen you, mister. I knew you was rich. Now I know you're a tightwad to boot.''Will give you something, feller,' the Virginian offered7