Whistle Pass Read Online Free

He breathed in and out over his clenched jaw. Machine guns, rifles. Explosions—hand grenades. “Goddamnit!” The LT had led them right into the Germans.
    Charlie ran. He vaulted the dead and dying, firing his rifle as he ran. The LT fell. The sergeant fell. Hooper, Calloway, Burns… Roger. They all fell. Except Charlie.
    He smashed through the hedgerow. Stunned, the Germans hesitated. Charlie didn’t. He fired into them until his rifle emptied. Then he pulled his bayonet and slashed. Blood splattered his face, soaked his clothes.
    He tore the German soldiers apart until the gunfire stopped.
     
     
    H ARRIS ripped through the lobby and up the stairs. Gabe jerked at the sight of the man, drenched to the skin. Where was his coat? The guest had left the hotel wearing one.
    “What do you make of that?” Betty asked from halfway across the room.
    Gabe continued to stare at the empty staircase. “I don’t know. It was almost as if someone was chasing him.”
    “Or he was doing the chasing.” Betty, now at his side, placed a hand on his arm. “Maybe he has demons, Gabriel. Not everyone handles their past as well as you. Could be he needs a friend who understands.”
    Gabe glanced out the corner of his eye. Betty only called him by his Christian name when she wanted to make a motherly point. “What are you suggesting? Are you saying I should go to a guest’s room and involve myself in his business?” It just wasn’t done. He was the manager of a hotel, not a priest. He couldn’t go to the man’s room, no matter how titillating the thought might be.
    “I’m saying that if you located and returned his coat to him, you might learn why I have to mop up the puddles he left on my clean floor.” She slapped his arm and walked away.
    Gabe watched her drag the mop and bucket from the utility closet. Maybe Betty had a point. Harris was a guest, after all. The least he could do would be to return the man’s coat to him. His gaze returned to the stairs. The image of the man hurling his frame up the steps unsettled Gabe. He’d seen men with such determination before. Most died. The ones who lived were never the same.
    After tugging on his coat, he carefully settled his hat to provide the least amount of damage to his hair as possible and headed for the door.
     
     
    T HE pea coat was a mass of wet wool in the intersection. Gabe picked it up, held it out as far from his body as his strength would tolerate, and made his way to Millie’s Dry Cleaners. At the clank of the bell over the door, Millie came out of the laundering area.
    Gabe’s eyes watered from the heavy odor of the shop’s chemicals. “I need this soon as you can. It belongs to a guest.”
    Millie clutched the dripping mess with both hands and assessed the project. “There’s a tire track on the back. Gonna take the full hour.”
    Gabe sat on a metal chair at the plate glass window. “I’ll wait.”

Chapter 4

     
    G ABE lightly knocked on the door. Receiving no response, he tapped the wood again with his knuckles. He pressed an ear to the door. No sound of steps coming to inquire who it might be. A click and creak of hinges. Gabe snapped upright.
    A man in overalls, carrying a metal lunch pail and lantern, walked out of a room midway down the hall. A railroader.
    Cheeks burning, Gabe held up the coat draped on a wooden hanger. “I’m returning this to a guest.” Gabe busied himself studying the polish on his shoes until the man descended the stairs. He crinkled his nose in disapproval. The rain had speckled the polish—the Florsheims needed a shine.
    Coast clear, he pressed his ear to the wood and rapped on it. “Mr. Harris? Are you in there? Is everything all right, sir?” Nothing.
    The remnants of Gabe’s potatoes and eggs breakfast soured in his belly. This was so wrong, so insane, so… out of his realm of comfort. He pulled the master key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Grasping the brass knob, he turned it, gave it a light push. The