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The Good Guy Dean Koontz 42430K 2023-08-28

For a fewhimself that beer and pretzels were all he needed Conviction was assisted by picturing Shaydra as a bovine person with one eyebrow and foot-long braided nose hairs

As usual, the tavern soothed hies off his day; the rooh he did not fully understand the reason for its cal effect

The air smelled of stale beer and fresh beer, of spilled brine froe jar, of bar wax and shuffleboard powder Froriddle and onion rings crispening in hot oil

The warreeable scents, the illuminated Budweiser clock and the soft shadows in which he sat, the murmurs of the couples in the booths behind him and the immortal voice of Patsy Cline on the jukebox were so fan territory

Maybe the tavern comforted him because it represented, if not permanence, at least continuance In a world rapidly and ceaselessly transfore

Tim expected no surprises here, and wanted none New experiences were overrated Being run down by a bus would be a new experience

He preferred the fa off a mountain because he would never climb one

Some said he lacked a sense of adventure Ti to theh exotic lands and across strange seas were the quests of crawling children coht inches between the left ear and the right

If he made that observation, they would think him a fool He was just a mason, after all, a bricklayer He was expected not to think too much

These days, , especially about the future They preferred the coht

Others accused hied

The past was rich with known beauty and fully rewarded a look backward He was a hopeful h to assume that beauty lay, as well, in the unknown future

An interesting guy cah not as tall as Tim, solid but not formidable

HisHe entered like an anih the door until it swung shut, and then warily surveying the pree

When the newcolass as if it were a sacred chalice, as though he were brooding on the profounda devotional demeanor, rather than a pose of sullen solitude, he allowed strangers the option of conversation without encouraging it

If the first words out of the newcoot or a political nut, or the wrong kind of fool, Tiic reverie to one of bitter silence and barely repressed violence Few people would try more than twice to break the ice when the only response was a glacial chill

Tim preferred quiet conteht kind of conversation, too The right kind was uncommon

When you initiated a conversation, you could have a hard tiuy spoke first, however, and revealed his nature, you could shut hi him out

Diligent in the support of his yet-to-be-conceived children, Rooney arrived “What’ll it be?”

The stranger put a thick manila envelope on the bar and kept his left hand on it “Maybe…a beer”

Rooney waited, eyebrows raised

“Yes All right A beer,” said the newcomer

“On tap, I have Budweiser, Miller Lite, and Heineken”

“Okay Well…then…I guess…Heineken”

His voice was as thin and taut as a telephone wire, his words like birds perched at discreet intervals, resonant with a plucked note that ht have been dismay

By the tier had e”

Evidently a second round was out of the question

When Rooney went away, the stranger wrapped his right hand around the beer glass He did not take a sip

Tiiven hi evening Sometimes he asked for ice to enliven a warm brew

Even if you weren’t a heavy drinker, however, you wanted the first s of beer when it was at its coldest, fresh from the tap

Like a sniper intent on a target, Tiood sniper, he also had keen peripheral vision He could see that the stranger had still not lifted the glass of Heineken

The guy did not appear to be a habitué of taverns, and evidently he didn’t want to be in this one, on this night, at this hour

At last he said, “I’m early”

Tim wasn’t sure if this was a conversation he wanted

“I guess,” said the stranger, “everyone wants to be early, size things up”

Ti a bad vibe Not a look-out-he’s-a-olf kind of vibe, just a feeling that the guy ht be tedious

The stranger said, “I ju”

On the other hand, the best hope of a ood luck to encounter an eccentric

Ti to the skydiver, he said, “What was his name?”

“Whose name?”

“The dog’s”

“Larry”

“Funny na”

“I named him after my brother”

“What did your brother think of that?”

“My brother is dead”

Tim said, “I’m sorry to hear it”

“That was a long tio”

“Did Larry like sky-diving?”

“He never went He died when he was sixteen”

“I ”

“Yeah He see it up only because my stomach is in knots like it e jumped”

“This has been a bad day, huh?”

The stranger frowned “What do you think?”

Tim nodded “Bad day”

Continuing to frown, the skydiver said, “You are him, aren’t you?”

The art of barroo Mozart on the piano It’s freestyle, a jam session The rhythms are instinctual

“Are you hiain

Tim said, “Who else would I be?”

“You look so…ordinary”

“I work at it,” Tim assured him

The skydiver stared intently at hiine being you”

“It’s no piece of cake,” Tim said less playfully, and frowned to hear a note of sincerity in his voice

The stranger finally picked up his drink Getting it to his lips, he slopped beer on the bar, then chugged half the contents of the glass

“Anyway, I’m just in a phase,” Tim said more to himself than to his companion

Eventually, this guy would realize his mistake, whereupon Tim would pretend that he, too, had been confused Meanwhile, there was a little fun to be had

Sliding the uy said, “Half of it’s there Ten thousand The rest when she’s gone”

As he finished speaking, the stranger turned on his stool, got to his feet, and headed toward the door

As Ti of those eleven words clarified for hione

First astonishment—and then an uncharacteristic clutch of fear—choked off his voice

The skydiver was intent on bailing out of the bar He quickly crossed the rooht

“Hey, wait a minute,” Tim said, too softly and too late “Wait”