Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) Paul Heatley (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📖

that just keeps showing up in his present. He has no doubt that the CIA will be looking for him. Monitoring his accounts. Alerts set up on facial-recognition cameras all across the country. The US government will not be willing to let him go so easily. He’s done too much for them. He knows too much. Too many dirty secrets.

He’s not going back. He’d had enough a long time ago. The complaints he levied at Dale and his buddies fell on deaf ears. They were brushed aside, ignored, instantly forgotten. Tom couldn’t forget. All that he’d seen, that he’d heard. All that he’d been powerless to stop. His only regret now is that he didn’t get out sooner.

The door opens to the bar. Tom’s eyes go to it instantly, though he’s subtle about it. Just a quick glance that takes it all in, assesses the three men who come stumbling in.

They get the attention of the regulars, too. They’re young, loud, brash. Drunk. Out on the town, enjoying their Saturday, figuring they’ll come in here, a place they’ve never been before. They’ll check it out, take in the atmosphere, the locale, the ambience. And the prices. They’ll get a good look at the prices.

“Hey, guys, we just stepped into a fuckin’ mausoleum or somethin’?” one of them says, striding through, looking around. He leads the way, strutting like a peacock, his head bobbing back and forth. His buddies laugh at what he says. The three of them all look alike. One of them wears a baseball cap. The only difference between the leader and the other guy not in a cap is that his hair’s brown and the other’s is blond.

They go to the bar, order drinks. The leader keeps looking around the room, at the people present. He double-takes when he sees Tom, zeroes in on him, singling him out as the youngest man present. Tom watches them without looking directly at them, keeps an eye on them. They’re troublemakers. They’ve come in here to be loud and brash, knowing no one will tell them to shut up, knowing they can do as they please.

They get their drinks, but the leader leaves his on the counter, nudges his buddies to follow him, to check him out. He crosses the room, walks toward Tom. Tom is unsurprised.

“You look outta place, man,” the leader says. “You look a little young to be in here.”

Tom runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, checking the gaps in his teeth for bits of food. Takes his time responding. “Could say the same about you,” he says when he’s done probing.

“We’re just passing through.” The leader tilts his chin at Tom’s empty plate. “Looks like you got yourself comfortable.”

Tom shrugs. “I like it in here. It’s quiet. Usually.”

“Uh-huh. Maybe you like the smell, huh? That it? It stinks of old man in this place.” He twitches his nose, flares his nostrils. Turns to his friend in the cap. “You smell that, don’t you?”

“I sure smell somethin’,” the cap-wearer says. He takes a drink of his beer.

“Smells like body odor and shit,” the blond says.

The leader laughs. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s exactly what it is, man. That’s exactly what that smell is. It’s like they’re all dead inside.” He turns his attention back to Tom. “And that’s a stink you like, huh? You just come on in here, take a seat, and wallow in it, really soak it up. That’s your kind of thing, right?”

He’s trying to goad Tom, to get some kind of reaction out of him. Amusing himself. Tom isn’t interested. Doesn’t want to be drawn into it. “Sure,” he says. “It’s exactly that. Can’t get enough of it.”

The cap-wearer chuckles. “You hear that? He admits it.”

It’s not enough for the leader, though. “I don’t need you to confirm it,” he says. “I already know it, man. I already know you’re the kinda sick fuck gets off on shit like that. I can see it all over your face.”

“Sure,” Tom says. “That must be it.”

The bartender, who has been watching it all, calls over, “Listen, boys, we don’t want any trouble in here.”

The blond turns, jabs a finger toward him. “Man, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m serious, now,” the bartender says. “Just leave him be. He ain’t doing you any harm.”

The cap-wearer turns now. “You didn’t hear him the first time? Shut up, damn it.”

The leader takes a step closer to Tom. “Well?” he says.

Tom sits back, shrugs. “Well what?”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say?”

“No.”

“No?” The leader is confused, less sure of himself now. This isn’t how he expected things to go. He was expecting belligerence, something he could bounce off, seize upon. Something he can cause trouble with.

“Sounds like you got all the answers.”

“You getting smart with me, man?”

Tom shrugs again.

“What the hell’s this?” The leader imitates him, looking and sounding like a petulant child. This isn’t going how he anticipated. It’s getting out of his control, and now he’s getting riled up.

Tom doesn’t want trouble. Doesn’t want to cause a scene, doesn’t want to draw any unwanted attention toward himself. As much as he’d like to piss the leader off, he doesn’t shrug again. “Just forget about it,” he says. “Just walk away. Forget about it.”

“You trynna tell me what to do?”

“Just giving you a piece of advice.”

“Advice, huh? Now it sounds like you’re trying to threaten me. That what you trying to do?”

Tom looks up at him, looks into his eyes for the first time. “If I was, you’d know about it.”

The leader can’t hold Tom’s gaze. He isn’t so sure of himself anymore. He clears his throat, knowing he can’t look bad in front of his buddies. He shakes it off. Is about to say something else.

Tom can already guess the kind of banalities about to pour out of his mouth. He cuts him off, bored with it now. “I ain’t interested,” he says, his voice low, but loud enough to be heard by the leader, if no