OPH-217 Hard Guys and Hostages by Robert Moore


Chapter 1


Butch tripped and fell on the way up the three steps leading to the 
back door, and that set a dog barking somewhere in the outbuildings. 
Max swore and looked at Butch in a threatening way. Pete was trying not 
to laugh and, at the same time, was looking a little pissed off himself 
at Butch. But it was really no use getting pissed off at Butch, any 
more than it would be worthwhile getting pissed off at a six-year-old 
kid. Butch looked a little ashamed of himself (as always when he'd done 
something stupid) and picked up the gun he'd dropped. He wiped it on 
the leg of the pants he'd taken off the body of the fat guy who had 
stopped to give Pete a ride.

Max tried the door just in case, but, of course, it was locked. Anyone 
living this far out in the boonies would have the sense to lock the 
doors at night. The dog stopped barking, and Max listened. There wasn't 
a sound from the house. He laid his shoulder against the door and 
pushed a little. It wasn't like a Greek Orthodox church, but it wasn't 
ready to buckle at a sneeze, either. Max beckoned to Butch, and the big 
gorilla leaned close to him.

"See if you can open it up without waking half the county, will you?" 
Butch nodded and put the gun in his pocket. A gun never looked very 
impressive in his hands. It always looked like a toy. He put one hand 
on the knob, completely obscuring it, and with the other he got as good 
a grip as he could on the door frame. He pushed on the door a few 
times, each time a little harder than the last. The door made a grating 
sound as metal rubbed against metal. The house was old and the wood was 
probably more than a little rotten.

Butch looked at Max and grinned and leaned down again and put a little 
of his back into it. The door went in a little further this time and 
stayed that way. Another shove and Butch forced the lock apart. There 
wasn't a chain, and if there was a latch the owner hadn't thrown it.

Inside it was like any old fashioned farm house. They walked from the 
service porch to the kitchen, and then into a hall that led the length 
of the place. There were two bedrooms to the right of the hill, and a 
dining room and a living room to the left. Between the service porch 
and the dining room was a single bathroom, and at the other end, clear 
across the front of the place, was a screened-in porch. There wasn't 
anyone in the place.

Naturally Butch started to turn on a light as soon as they had made 
sure no one was there. Max stopped him with an impatient gesture. "We 
keep the place dark," he said. "The owners will be coming back sometime 
tonight, and we want them to walk in without suspecting anything. 
Right?" Butch thought that one over for a moment.

"Oh, sure. Sure, I didn't think o' that, Max," he said apologetically.


End of Page 1. See oph-217.txt for full story.