Diabolical Read Online Free Page B

Hatcher said.
    Mr. E shrugged, spun the blade with a flourish again, and then somehow made it disappear up the sleeve of his outstretched arm.
    â€œWhy don’t you get down from there. There’s someone I’m supposed to take you to see.”
    I know a fellow’s been looking for you. “And who would that be?”
    â€œWilliam Bartlett.”
    Hatcher chewed on the name for a moment. “ General William Bartlett?”
    â€œThe one and only. Know him?”
    â€œI’ve heard of him.”
    â€œWell, it’s mutual. He’s waiting. And he’s with someone else, someone you definitely do know.”
    The sea breeze picked up, gusting in, mussing up the guy’s hair, the howl forcing him to pause until it died down.
    â€œGal by the name of Vivian. Used to be married to God.”
    The one who called himself Mr. E smiled, mocking lips on a face brimming with unspoken knowledge. “That is, until you had a hand in her divorce.”

CHAPTER 2
    â€œHOW MUCH FARTHER?”
    The kid sitting next to him was in his early twenties, at the most. Maybe even his teens. He offered him a reassuring smile, noticed the kid was staring at the digital clock readout above the radio: 12:17. He’d picked the boy up just after midnight. The strip was good for that.
    â€œNot much,” Perry said.
    The Mercedes followed the twin beams of light as they cut a swath atop the winding asphalt. The road snaked in ascending curves through the hills, a slack of ribbon unspooling ahead of them. A barrier of trees to each side gave the route a mazelike quality.
    â€œWhen we get there, I was thinking I might open this nice bottle of cab I have. A ’97 Diamond Creek.” Perry shifted his frame behind the wheel, twisting to face the younger man. “Do you know much about wine, Daryl?”
    His passenger thought for a moment, eyes roaming the dashboard. “Darin. I’m pretty sure I told you my name was Darin.”
    â€œSorry,” Perry said, rebuking himself. The traffic had been loud, so it was excusable. And the odds of that being his real name were practically zilch anyway. But still. “Are you a wine drinker, Darin? The ’97 is excellent.”
    Darin started to say something, then angled away. He stared out the side window, his body quiet.
    â€œWhat was that?”
    â€œNothing,” Darin said.
    Perry nodded, reiterating that the ’97 was a good vintage, then segueing into the weather. He had little doubt his lean, lithe passenger had wanted to declare he wasn’t a homosexual. Such protests weren’t uncommon, in his experience. Usually when they popped up he would make a point of agreeing, explain how he understood completely, assure the young men—and they were always rather young—that it was obvious they were straight, how he could tell right off. Fashion a comment about how he never really thought otherwise. He was just looking forward to some good company, some stimulating conversation over drinks. Whatever reason they had for hanging around outside that bar, for approaching the car and getting in, it wasn’t that. He was just happy to make a friend.
    The little speech was ready to go. The kid would likely raise the objection again. But really, who was he kidding? Hadn’t he made a point of mentioning how much he enjoyed some museum in San Francisco recently? As if that wasn’t intended to send a message.
    Perry hummed softly to himself, the lyrics to the tune bringing a smile to his lips as they cascaded over his thoughts.
    See the pyramids a-long de-nial . . .
    He felt good. This was the part of the Game that got his juices flowing, the almost giddy feeling of anticipation. He was so thankful for his life, so grateful he had money and the freedom that came with it. He never questioned that he deserved it, that he’d earned it, but he also never let himself forget how fortunate he was compared to those like Darin. He had