The Camaro Murders Read Online Free

wearing a pair of dingy Carhartts with a patch that says “Hank.” Barrel-chested and potbellied, he’s furious as he marches up the drive. “Damn dog. Can’t even keep him tied up.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?” I ask.
    Hank jerks the dog by the collar and gives me a “why do you care?” look. “Halfacre.”
    â€œBecause he’s so big,” I say.
    â€œYeah, something like that.” Hank spits tobacco near his feet. He squints at me like I’m the sun.
    â€œI’ve been looking for a dog,” I say. “What kind is he?” I wanted to take a dog up north with me. Dogs don’t care how much money you make, and they sure as hell don’t care about your carpentry skills.
    â€œIrish Wolfhound, and he ain’t for sale.” Hank doesn’t want to answer any more of my questions. He pulls harder on Halfacre, so much that he lifts the dog’s front paws from the ground. Halfacre wheezes against the strain.
    I should keep my mouth shut, but I can’t stand to watch this clown abuse the dog. He doesn’t know how to handle an animal this size. “You know, you shouldn’t be so rough with him.”
    â€œYou oughta mind your manners, boy.” Hank glares at me like I just called his wife a whore. “Or I’ll slap you upside the head like you was the dog.” He turns and drags Halfacre with him across the street, scolding him as they go.
    I mutter under my breath what I would like to say out loud before I put the Marlboro back in my mouth to light it.
    â€œWhat did you say, boy?” Hank spins around, head cocked in disbelief. He must have heard me.
    I’m trying to think of a way for my mouth to get me out of the trouble it just got me into as he trudges back over. In the end it probably isn’t possible, so I aim for honesty. “I said…”
    Hank doesn’t give me time to finish before he clocks me alongside the head, sending ashes flying and me to the ground. “I done like I told you!” he says before spitting again.
    I make a weak attempt of kicking gravel at him while I hold the side of my head. “Prick.”
    â€œHa,” he says, satisfied he got the better of me. “Now why don’t you go run on home.”
    My ear’s splitting in red hot pain, but I’m not bleeding. I stand and brush off the dust while Hank walks away, dragging Halfacre with him. I’ve had my fill.
    The driver-side door slams behind me. I light a new smoke and the rear tires spin as I barrel out of the drive. I chirp ’em coming out of first gear and tear down the road, the motor straining the whole way.
    I drive like this for the better part of a half hour, taking my aggression out on the truck. Like it’ll help… Graehling Station is full of people like Hank and his family. I’m wasting my time if I think they have any shot of escaping their white trash hell. They perpetuate it.
    Their type shouldn’t be allowed to own dogs either. Growing up, Grandma never let me get one. I always say you can’t appreciate something until you go without, and I know those inbreeds won’t give a second thought about that dog. Someone ought to take it from them.
    A plan starts to come together in my head. Since I’m clearing out for good, I won’t be around to answer questions… Yep, I’m gonna do it. Slowly at first, I begin to turn the truck around, and then I’m speeding back the other way.
    It’s getting dark by the time I reach town, which is fine by me. No one will see me sneaking up to the house. Halfacre is tied up in the yard when I pull onto Grandma’s street. I cut the motor a few houses down and walk as easy as I can up to the inbreeds’ house. Halfacre sees me and lets out a warning bark, but then recognizes who I am.
    â€œHey, pal, remember me?” I say as I work on the rope that’s got him tied to the house. Halfacre wags his