The Good Guy

The Good Guy
Dean Koontz

A stunning new thriller in the vein of Velocity and The Husband from one of the world’s bestselling authors.After a day's work hefting brick and stone, Tim Carrier slakes his thirst at The Lamplighter Tavern. Nothing heavy happens there. It's a friendly workingman's bar run by his good friend Rooney, who enjoys gathering eccentric customers. Working his deadpan humour on strangers is, for Tim, all part of the entertainment.But how could Tim have imagined that the stranger who sits down next to him one evening is about to unmake his world and enmesh him in a web of murder and deceit? The man has come there to meet someone and he thinks it's Tim. Tim's wayward sense of humour lets the misconception stand for a moment and that's all it takes: the stranger hands Tim a fat manila envelope, saying, 'Half of it's there; the rest when she's gone,' and then he's out the door.In the envelope Tim finds the photograph of a woman, her name and address written on the back; and several thick packets of hundred-dollar bills.When an intense-looking man sits down where the first stranger sat and glances at the manila envelope, Tim knows he's the one who was supposed to get it. Shaken, thinking fast, Tim says he's had a change of heart. He removes the picture of the woman and then hands the envelope to the stranger. 'Half what we agreed,' he says. 'For doing nothing. Call it a no-kill fee.'Tim is left holding a photo of a pretty woman, but his sense of fun has led him into a very dangerous world from which there is no way back. The company of strangers has cost him his peace of mind, and possibly his life.

The Good Guy

DEAN KOONTZ

Contents

Title Page (#ubbfbd7c7-cb22-5e8b-98f5-80401814ae16)Part One (#ufe787b10-812d-54ed-9b7e-3111e2a7dac0)Chapter One (#u4cf91caa-5dfc-5b95-a36d-dc490d96f558)Chapter Two (#u6ef42a3d-b9ce-516d-b6ba-4f8f02c1c089)Chapter Three (#u10e2e50e-f5b6-5125-a82e-d14b06ed522a)Chapter Four (#u27a35fcd-20ca-5a26-aaec-0599973a0727)Chapter Five (#u60963f41-87e9-505a-a50f-ec1045941aac)Chapter Six (#u3e469e22-41b8-5aec-aee9-2ed5e7f05efd)Chapter Seven (#u2413ad42-f0b4-54e9-a055-2a75da57aae0)Chapter Eight (#ua054795f-d5cb-5d10-a5b4-63585244ea17)Chapter Nine (#uea967262-cbfc-51eb-9abc-d879df117a18)Chapter Ten (#u91106554-a4ce-5400-a6b9-ed8d34f8b4a7)Chapter Eleven (#u55354fa8-562d-5595-9c72-92061d6d3c0b)Chapter Twelve (#u54b5b379-239d-5f5e-a288-3625bd6a1220)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)Part Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)Part Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fifty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-One (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Sixty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)Also By Dean Koontz (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Part One (#u65e7b131-c2e7-55e0-bb92-b6c31e1b1967)

The Right Place

at the Wrong Time

One (#u65e7b131-c2e7-55e0-bb92-b6c31e1b1967)

Sometimes a mayfly skates across a pond, leaving a brief wake as thin as spider silk, and by staying low avoids those birds and bats that feed in flight.

At six feet three, weighing two hundred ten pounds, with big hands and bigger feet, Timothy Carrier could not maintain a profile as low as that of a skating mayfly, but he tried.

Shod in heavy work boots, with a John Wayne walk that came naturally to him and that he could not change, he nevertheless entered the Lamplighter Tavern and proceeded to the farther end of the room without drawing attention to himself. None of the three men near the door, at the short length of the “L”-shaped bar, glanced at him. Neither did the couples in two of the booths.

When he sat on the end stool, in shadows beyond the last of the downlights that polished the molasses-colored mahogany bar, he sighed with contentment. From the perspective of the front door, he was the smallest man in the room.

If the forward end of the Lamplighter was the driver’s deck of the locomotive, this was the caboose. Those who chose to sit here on a slow Monday evening would most likely be quiet company.

Liam Rooney—who was the owner and, tonight, the only barkeep—drew a draft beer from the tap and put it in front of Tim.

“Some night you’ll walk in here with a date,” Rooney said, “and the shock will kill me.”

“Why would I bring a date to this dump?”

“What else do you know but this dump?”

“I’ve also got a favorite doughnut shop.”

“Yeah. After the two of you scarf down a dozen glazed, you could take her to a big expensive restaurant in Newport Beach, sit on the curb, and watch the valets park all the fancy cars.”

Tim sipped his beer, and Rooney wiped the bar though it was clean, and Tim said, “You got lucky, finding Michelle. They don’t make them like her anymore.”

“Michelle’s thirty, same age as us. If they don’t make ’em like her anymore, where’d she come from?”

“It’s a mystery.”

“To be a winner, you gotta be in the game,” Rooney said.

“I’m in the game.”

“Shooting hoops alone isn’t a game.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got women beating on my door.”

“Yeah,” Rooney said, “but they come in pairs and they want to tell you about Jesus.”

“Nothing wrong with that. They care about my soul. Anybody ever tell you, you’re a sarcastic sonofabitch?”

“You did. Like a thousand times. I never get tired of hearing it. This guy was in here earlier, he’s forty, never been married, and now they cut off his testicles.”

“Who cut off his testicles?”

“Some doctors.”

“You get me the names of those doctors,” Tim said. “I don’t want to go to one by accident.”

“The guy had cancer. Point is, now he can never have kids.”

“What’s so great about having kids, the way the world is?”

Rooney looked like a black-belt wannabe who, though never having taken a karate lesson, had tried to break a lot of concrete blocks with his face. His eyes, however, were blue windows full of warm light, and his heart was good.

“That’s what it’s all about,” Rooney said. “A wife, kids, a place you can hold fast to while the rest of the world spins apart.”

“Methuselah lived to be nine hundred, and he was begetting kids right to the end.”

“Begetting?”

“That’s what they did in those days. They begot.”

“So you’re going to—what?—wait to start a family till you’re six hundred?”

“You and Michelle don’t have kids.”

“We’re workin’ on it.” Rooney bent over, folded his arms on the bar, and put himself face-to-face with Tim. “What’d you do today, Doorman?”

Tim frowned. “Don’t call me that.”

“So what’d you do today?”

“The usual. Built some wall.”

“What’ll you do tomorrow?”

“Build some more wall.”

“Who for?”