Suicide Squeeze
Chapter One
1
Conner Samson bounced a check for a dollar draft in Salty’s Saloon and decided it was time to get serious about looking for work.
Sid, the eternally bald and surly bartender, set the draft beer at Conner’s elbow and handed him the phone from behind the bar. Sid took Conner’s check and frowned at it before crumpling it into a tight wad and tossing it over his shoulder. He wiped the length of the bar with an old rag, muttering in his amiable cranky way.
“Thanks, Sid.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Conner looked up again at the TV hanging over the bar to see if the nightmare were true. Maybe the whole thing had been a bad hallucination. The score: Atlanta 6, St. Louis 7, and Chip Carey telling everyone about the outfielder’s error, which had cost Conner five hundred bucks.
Hell.
Salty’s saloon was old and dark and filled with quiet regulars who wanted to watch sports, nurse drinks, and be left alone. Conner’s kind of place. Salty’s had been through a few transformations, a disco, a Chinese takeout place, a pool hall. A wooden cricket bat still hung on the wall from the brief period Salty’s had ... read full excerpt from Suicide Squeeze ebook
