|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Brownsville station that was making the most of the storm with a blaring rock and roll hurricane party. With the exception of an infrequent commercial and public service announcement, the disc jockey played one blaring song after another and gleefully informed his listeners that "Ernestine was now situated some forty-five miles off of Port Isabel," and "she hadn't moved any closer to land in the last two hours, which means, gang, that good old Fuzzy Benson is gonna be with you throughout this long, ugly night, playing your favorites on your Hurricane Music Station, good old KTZZ." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Gladys Ann, shut that damn thing off!" he ordered. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The old woman shuffled across the dimly lit room and slumped into a chair across the table from him. In typical G.A. fashion, she had to glare the person down before she said her piece. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Bartholomew looked down at the floor. It was a learned response, and the best way of shortening the glare interval. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Don't ya want to know about the storm?" she hissed. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Gladys Ann Davidson was the kind of woman Bartholomew's father called "long in the ugly tooth." All of which meant that she had accumulated a few years and had a raspish |
|
|
|
|
|