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Table of contents
PREFACE
CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4-5-6-7
CHAPTER-8-9
CHAPTER-10-11
CHAPTER-12-13-14-15
CHAPTER-16-17
CHAPTER-18-19
CHAPTER-20-21-22
CHAPTER-23-24-25
CHAPTER-26-27-28
CHAPTER-29-30
CHAPTER-31.1
CHAPTER-31.2
CHAPTER-31.3
CHAPTER-32
CHAPTER-33
CHAPTER-34-35-36-37-38
CHAPTER-39-40-41-42
CHAPTER-43-44-45
CHAPTER-46-47
CHAPTER-48
CHAPTER-49-50
CHAPTER-51
CHAPTER-52-53
The Sex Life of the Gods. Michael Knerr. CHAPTER-1-2
CHAPTER-3
CHAPTER-4
CHAPTER-5-6
CHAPTER-7-8
CHAPTER-9-10
CHAPTER-11-12
CHAPTER-13-14
CHAPTER-15-16
CHAPTER-17-18

y'around again." 

 

"Thanks, Andy." 

 

Who could possibly know about the plane crash? If the wreck _had_ been 

found, it would be the police asking questions, not two strangers. 

Somebody, somewhere, was searching for him. Who? And what did they want? 

 

Fingers of fear and worry flittered along his spine. 

 

When they had finished eating, Nick shaved, cleaned himself up and 

followed Andy out to where his car was parked. He found that he liked 

the old man, but under the circumstances conversation was difficult. The 

plane crash, for one thing, was a bit on the odd side. The burning 

wreckage, he recalled, had shown no signs of ever having had wings or a 

tail assembly. But that was probably minor; the wings could have been 

ripped off by the trees when the plane came down. The important thing 

was that someone knew he was here. As they drove toward the town of 

Everett, the old man began talking about the strangers that had inquired 

after Nick earlier in the day. 

 

"... Nope, I says to the big feller, ain't seen a soul on foot all day, 

'ceptin' o'course, Jimmy Dilson, goin' down t'Willer Creek, t'fish. That 

seemed t'satisfy them so they lit out." 

 

"Notice what kind of car they drove, Andy?" Nick asked. 

 

"Yep. Gave 'em gas. They was drivin' a Chevrolet. Looked to be a '56 or 

a '57; black, it was. Blacker'n th' inside of a coal bin, with th' 

shiniest chrome y'ever saw." 

 

"Sounds like them," Nick told him, enlarging the lie. "One of them short 

and the other medium?" 

 

"Not exactly. The one did all the talkin' had a funny accent. Anyways, 

he was about six feet, three or four, and heavy. Goodlookin', with 

blond hair. The other guy was about your build, with sandy hair. Never 

talked, that guy." 

 

"They're the ones," Nick lied and shook a cigarette from a half empty 

pack. "Thanks for not giving me away." 

 

Andy nodded, lapsing into silence, while Nick concentrated on coming 

home to a strange woman, and the two men who had been asking after him. 

For some reason, he got the feeling that Beth Danson was his wife and he 

accepted it that way. She couldn't be his sister ... besides, a man his 

age would be married, in all likelihood. He wondered vaguely how she 

would welcome him, but cast the thought aside. He'd know soon enough. 

 

As they approached Everett, in the gathering twilight, Andy turned to 

him. 

 

"Where d'ye want off, son?" 

 

"Weisman Drive. Know it?" 

 

"Yep. We're almost there. Suburban area, just north of town. Y'got 

friends there?" 

 

"Yes." Nick grinned inwardly. That is, he thought, I hope she's a 

friend. Hell, I don't know whether she hates my guts, or loves me ... 

but she's the only one that can help. A frightening gloom fell over him 

suddenly. 

 

Andy lapsed again into silence and the sound of the motor became loud. 


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