Back Warlock Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Jim Harrison
  3. Also by Jim Harrison
  4. JIM HARRISON
  5. Copyright
  6. Dedication
  7. PART I
  8. Chapter 1
  9. Chapter 2
  10. Chapter 3
  11. Chapter 4
  12. Chapter 5
  13. Chapter 6
  14. Chapter 7
  15. Chapter 8
  16. Chapter 9
  17. Chapter 10
  18. Chapter 11
  19. Chapter 12
  20. Chapter 13
  21. Chapter 14
  22. Chapter 15
  23. Chapter 16
  24. Chapter 17
  25. Chapter 18
  26. Chapter 19
  27. Chapter 20
  28. Chapter 21
  29. PART II
  30. Chapter 22
  31. Chapter 23
  32. Chapter 24
  33. Chapter 25
  34. Chapter 26
  35. Chapter 27
  36. Chapter 28
  37. Chapter 29
  38. Chapter 30
  39. Chapter 31
  40. Chapter 32
  41. PART III
  42. Chapter 33
  43. Chapter 34
  44. Chapter 35
  45. Chapter 36
  46. Chapter 37
  47. Chapter 38
  48. Chapter 39
  49. Chapter 40
  50. Chapter 41
  51. Chapter 42
  52. Chapter 43
  53. Chapter 44
  54. Chapter 45
  55. Back Cover

On his single vacation trip to Florida with Diana they had both thought the state to be imponderably sleazy outside a few locations, say the Everglades, an afternoon in the Flagler Museum in Palm Beach, and the ocean itself. So much of the trip had been unpleasant: on the charterboat the mate had clubbed the huge amberjack to death when Warlock wanted the fish released back to his watery home, and the captain was pissed when he wouldn’t pay to have the fish mounted—who wanted a big, dead fish in his house; even worse were the ghastly college kids on the beach in front of their Fort Lauderdale hotel. The boys would gather their blankets in an island around Diana’s, neglecting their own kind. Their jack-off leers repulsed Warlock and fueled his jealousy to the extent that he finally confined his wife to the hotel pool. The quarrel lasted for days—Diana preferred the ocean. He had felt so badly that he began to think that his divorce from Marilyn had been, career-wise, changing horses in midstream, an unthinkable act to even the most otiose cowboy. But then the cowboy wasn’t married to Marilyn with her nasty logic and vaunting social ambitions in East Lansing. Her inauguration into the local Junior League turned her into Princess Margaret; her accent changed and her clothing budget soared. A close quartered confrontation with Marilyn could be likened to being rolled up tightly in a cold, wet wool blanket; the heart and brain choking on their own grimly altered juices as the argument prolonged itself. Then the fated, foreordained meeting with Diana after his Economics Club speech: good sense disintegrated like shards of frozen manure in the face of the power of love at first sight. After their second, secretive date they had tried to go all the way in his modest compact car on a lover’s lane; her pearlish mellow laughter rang out in the June night air at his improbable maneuvers. She had suggested a motel for the next meeting, then had headed down on him with a voluptuous energy that left him at evening’s end with some kicked off radio and heater dials.