BooksBarbecue
Back The Trickster Save as PDF
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

Sitconski turned to Muir with a pleasant smile. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Muir. I have been so long trapping in this great wilderness I often smell a beast’s scent on the air like an animal itself. I must be wary of it when I return to civilized company. Christian men would not have me lifting my nose at every musky whiff that comes my way.’

Duncan Muir looked into the woods where his tall companion had been looking and smiling. He saw nothing. All was still. The snow fell silently and sparingly between the trees and the trunks guarded the cathedral-like forest interior as if nothing alive had ever walked there before.

‘And can you smell a beast now?’

The Scotsman was full of admiration for this man’s senses. In fact he was impressed with him altogether and wished Henderson could see the sense in listening to his wisdom.

‘Oh yes, Mr Muir. Something so stinking and foul it can only be a skunk.’

Muir laughed. ‘Then I think we’ll let it be.’

Sitconski returned his smile and walked on. ‘For the time being, yes. I think we shall.’

43

‘You can’t ski, Del.’

‘I ski better than you handle my fucking career.’

‘Sure. Look around us. You’re struggling.’

Del Parkinson ignored the command to examine his suite in the New York hotel that peeked over the trees of Central Park, and instead hit his forehead with a palm in mock exasperation at his squat balding agent, then turned his back on him.

Lester Golding responded in kind and slapped the arm of his robustly upholstered chair with a square hand, albeit more quietly and with less anger. He’d never liked Del. He liked him even less now that he was on the slide. Lester knew that CBS were going to pass on another season of The Alley Cat after they’d finished shooting this run, but if the fifty-something actor with the famously sad face knew it too, he wasn’t letting on. Cop shows were ten-a-penny, and Lester wasn’t complaining, since his latest client was Shardu Nant, the female lead in the show that looked like replacing it.