One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [32]
There was no peephole, forcing him to crack the door. He found himself looking up into the ice-blue eyes of a man a full head taller than himself. His clothes didn’t indicate that he worked for the hotel. In fact, he was dressed like he was going into the jungle. His face was expressionless, giving no hint as to why he had knocked. The only indication of why he was there was a section of pipe held in his right hand. Maybe he was a plumber.
“Yes?”
“Professor Cahill?”
“Yes. Can I help you?”
In response, the man kicked in the door, knocking the professor to the floor. The last thing the professor saw was the section of pipe coming at his head.
20
Jennifer Cahill opened her eyes and watched the ceiling fan above her rotate for half a minute. This isn’t going to cut it. I need to find something to do or I’m going to go nuts. At first, she had enjoyed sleeping in. Waking up whenever she felt like it or rolling over and going back to sleep had been a nice reprieve. Now, with spring break almost over, she was beginning to feel a little restless. As an anthropology major herself, she had asked her uncle to let her go with him to Guatemala, but he had refused. She hoped he was having some luck, although she knew it was a long shot. Everyone else had written him off as a crackpot, but she believed in him, if for no other reason than because he had been so kind to her.
She threw off the covers and padded into the kitchen. She had a one-bedroom apartment in a row house on Pitt Street about two blocks from the College of Charleston, in the heart of downtown. The house had been turned from a regal antebellum statement of the past history of Charleston into a rat maze of individual apartments for college students. She was the only one still at home. Everyone else had left the city for party time at some spring break location. She didn’t miss that. At twenty-eight, she wasn’t that much older than her peers, but she was a world apart in maturity. She’d had enough of the spring break bullshit and Animal House lifestyle on her first try at getting a degree.
She put on a pot of coffee and went to open the front door to get some fresh spring air. It was only March, and the weather was already starting to warm up. The swelter was something that she enjoyed. She couldn’t see how anyone could live in cold weather. She got cold in a movie theater—forget about living permanently in the snowbelt. Having grown up as a tomboy on a ranch outside of Dallas, Texas, where she had spent most of her time outdoors, she had become used to the heat. It was muggier here, but still pretty close. If she couldn’t live in Texas, at least she could sweat like she did.
She turned to check her coffee and found a flyer at her feet. It was for a live band at a bar called the Windjammer on the Isle of Palms, a barrier island about thirty minutes from her house. She picked it up and saw writing at the bottom: “You should be going stir crazy by now. The offer still stands—you can stay with us. Meet us at the Windjammer tonight. If you don’t like it, you can always go home.” It was signed by her girlfriend Skeeter.
Jennifer thought about it for a second. She was looking for something to do, and maybe it was time to get out a little. Yeah, she’d have to fight off all the ogling boy-men who only wanted to get drunk, then get laid, but she could handle that. She just wasn’t sure it would be fun anymore. Those situations always made her think of her past. Shit,