{"id":6382,"date":"2026-01-05T23:47:51","date_gmt":"2026-01-05T23:47:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-good-guy-koontz-dean\/"},"modified":"2026-01-05T23:47:51","modified_gmt":"2026-01-05T23:47:51","slug":"the-good-guy-koontz-dean","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/the-good-guy-koontz-dean\/","title":{"rendered":"The Good Guy – Koontz, Dean"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
\n

One<\/em><\/b><\/p>\n

S<\/b><\/span>ometimes a mayfly skates across a pond, leaving<\/b> a brief wake as thin as spider silk, and by staying low avoids those birds and bats that feed in flight.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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 \u201cL\u201d-shaped bar, glanced at him. Neither did the couples in two of the booths.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

If the forward end of the Lamplighter was the driver\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

Liam Rooney\u2014who was the owner and, tonight, the only barkeep\u2014drew a draft beer from the tap and put it in front of Tim.<\/p>\n

\u201cSome night you\u2019ll walk in here with a date,\u201d Rooney said, \u201cand the shock will kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy would I bring a date to this dump?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat else do you know but this dump?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve also got a favorite doughnut shop.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. 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.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim sipped his beer, and Rooney wiped the bar though it was clean, and Tim said, \u201cYou got lucky, finding Michelle. They don\u2019t make them like her anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMichelle\u2019s thirty, same age as us. If they don\u2019t make \u2019em like her anymore, where\u2019d she come from?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a mystery.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo be a winner, you gotta be in the game,\u201d Rooney said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in the game.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShooting hoops alone isn\u2019t a game.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry about me. I\u2019ve got women beating on my door.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Rooney said, \u201cbut they come in pairs and they want to tell you about Jesus.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing wrong with that. They care about my soul. Anybody ever tell you, you\u2019re a sarcastic sonofabitch?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou did. Like a thousand times. I never get tired of hearing it. This guy was in here earlier, he\u2019s forty, never been married, and now they cut off his testicles.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho cut off his testicles?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome doctors.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou get me the names of those doctors,\u201d Tim said. \u201cI don\u2019t want to go to one by accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe guy had cancer. Point is, now he can never have kids.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s so great about having kids, the way the world is?\u201d<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what it\u2019s all about,\u201d Rooney said. \u201cA wife, kids, a place you can hold fast to while the rest of the world spins apart.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMethuselah lived to be nine hundred, and he was begetting kids right to the end.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBegetting?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what they did in those days. They begot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re going to\u2014what?\u2014wait to start a family till you\u2019re six hundred?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou and Michelle don\u2019t have kids.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re workin\u2019 on it.\u201d Rooney bent over, folded his arms on the bar, and put himself face-to-face with Tim. \u201cWhat\u2019d you do today, Doorman?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim frowned. \u201cDon\u2019t call me that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what\u2019d you do today?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe usual. Built some wall.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019ll you do tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBuild some more wall.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho for?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor whoever pays me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI work this place seventy hours a week, sometimes longer, but not for the customers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour customers are aware of that,\u201d Tim assured him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the sarcastic sonofabitch now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou still have the crown, but I\u2019m a contender.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI work for Michelle and for the kids we\u2019re gonna have. You need somebody to work for besides who pays you, somebody special to build something with, to share a future with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLiam, you sure do have beautiful eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe and Michelle\u2014we worry about you, bro.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim puckered his lips.<\/p>\n

Rooney said, \u201cAlone doesn\u2019t work for anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim made kissing noises.<\/p>\n

Leaning closer, until their faces were mere inches apart, Rooney said, \u201cYou want to kiss me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, you seem to care about me so much.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll park my ass on the bar. You can kiss that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo thanks. I don\u2019t want to have to cut off my lips.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know what your problem is, Doorman?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you go again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAutophobia.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWrong. I\u2019m not afraid of cars.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re afraid of yourself. No, that isn\u2019t right, either. You\u2019re afraid of your potential.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d make a great high-school guidance counselor,\u201d Tim said. \u201cI thought this place served free pretzels. Where\u2019re my pretzels?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome drunk threw up on them. I\u2019ve almost finished wiping them off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. But I don\u2019t want them if they\u2019re soggy.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rooney fetched a bowl of pretzels from the backbar and put them beside Tim\u2019s beer. \u201cMichelle has this cousin, Shaydra, she\u2019s sweet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat kind of name is Shaydra? Isn\u2019t anyone named Mary anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m gonna set you up with Shaydra for a date.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo point to it. Tomorrow, I\u2019m having my testicles cut off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPut them in a jar, bring them on the date. It\u2019ll be a great ice-breaker,\u201d said Rooney, and returned to the other end of the bar, where the three lively customers were busy paying the college tuition for the as-yet-unborn Rooney children.<\/p>\n

For a few minutes, Tim worked at convincing himself 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.<\/p>\n

As usual, the tavern soothed him. He didn\u2019t even need the beer to take the sharp edges off his day; the room itself did the job, though he did not fully understand the reason for its calming effect.<\/p>\n

The air smelled of stale beer and fresh beer, of spilled brine from the big sausage jar, of bar wax and shuffleboard powder. From the small kitchen came the aroma of hamburgers frying on a griddle and onion rings crispening in hot oil.<\/p>\n

The warm bath of agreeable 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 familiar that by comparison his own home would seem to be foreign territory.<\/p>\n

Maybe the tavern comforted him because it represented, if not permanence, at least continuance. In a world rapidly and ceaselessly transforming, the Lamplighter resisted the slightest change.<\/p>\n

Tim expected no surprises here, and wanted none. New experiences were overrated. Being run down by a bus would be a new experience.<\/p>\n

He preferred the familiar, the routine. He would never be at risk of falling off a mountain because he would never climb one.<\/p>\n

Some said he lacked a sense of adventure. Tim saw no point in suggesting to them that intrepid expeditions through exotic lands and across strange seas were the quests of crawling children compared to the adventures waiting in the eight inches between the left ear and the right.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

These days, most people avoided thinking, especially about the future. They preferred the comfort of blind convictions to clear-eyed thought.<\/p>\n

Others accused him of being old-fashioned. Guilty as charged.<\/p>\n

The past was rich with known beauty and fully rewarded a look backward. He was a hopeful man, but not presumptuous enough to assume that beauty lay, as well, in the unknown future.<\/p>\n

An interesting guy came into the tavern. He was tall, although not as tall as Tim, solid but not formidable.<\/p>\n

His manner, rather than his appearance, made him interesting. He entered like an animal with a predator on its trail, peering back through the door until it swung shut, and then warily surveying the premises, as though distrusting the promise of refuge.<\/p>\n

When the newcomer approached and sat at the bar, Tim stared at his Pilsner glass as if it were a sacred chalice, as though he were brooding on the profound meaning of its contents. By assuming a devotional demeanor, rather than a pose of sullen solitude, he allowed strangers the option of conversation without encouraging it.<\/p>\n

If the first words out of the newcomer\u2019s mouth were those of a bigot or a political nut, or the wrong kind of fool, Tim could morph from a pose of spiritual or nostalgic 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.<\/p>\n

Tim preferred quiet contemplation at this altar, but he enjoyed the right kind of conversation, too. The right kind was uncommon.<\/p>\n

When you initiated a conversation, you could have a hard time putting an end to it. When the other guy spoke first, however, and revealed his nature, you could shut him down by shutting him out.<\/p>\n

Diligent in the support of his yet-to-be-conceived children, Rooney arrived. \u201cWhat\u2019ll it be?\u201d<\/p>\n

The stranger put a thick manila envelope on the bar and kept his left hand on it. \u201cMaybe\u2026a beer.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rooney waited, eyebrows raised.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. All right. A beer,\u201d said the newcomer.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn tap, I have Budweiser, Miller Lite, and Heineken.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay. Well\u2026then\u2026I guess\u2026Heineken.\u201d<\/p>\n

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 might have been dismay.<\/p>\n

By the time Rooney brought the beer, the stranger had money on the bar. \u201cKeep the change.\u201d<\/p>\n

Evidently a second round was out of the question.<\/p>\n

When Rooney went away, the stranger wrapped his right hand around the beer glass. He did not take a sip.<\/p>\n

Tim was a wet nurse. That was the mocking title Rooney had given him because of his ability to nurse two beers through a long evening. Sometimes he asked for ice to enliven a warm brew.<\/p>\n

Even if you weren\u2019t a heavy drinker, however, you wanted the first swallow of beer when it was at its coldest, fresh from the tap.<\/p>\n

Like a sniper intent on a target, Tim focused on his Budweiser, but like a good sniper, he also had keen peripheral vision. He could see that the stranger had still not lifted the glass of Heineken.<\/p>\n

The guy did not appear to be a habitu\u00e9 of taverns, and evidently he didn\u2019t want to be in this one, on this night, at this hour.<\/p>\n

At last he said, \u201cI\u2019m early.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim wasn\u2019t sure if this was a conversation he wanted.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess,\u201d said the stranger, \u201ceveryone wants to be early, size things up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim was getting a bad vibe. Not a look-out-he\u2019s-a-werewolf kind of vibe, just a feeling that the guy might be tedious.<\/p>\n

The stranger said, \u201cI jumped out of an airplane with my dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

On the other hand, the best hope of a memorable barroom conversation is to have the good luck to encounter an eccentric.<\/p>\n

Tim\u2019s spirits lifted. Turning to the skydiver, he said, \u201cWhat was his name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhose name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe dog\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLarry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFunny name for a dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI named him after my brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did your brother think of that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy brother is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry to hear it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a long time ago.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid Larry like sky-diving?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe never went. He died when he was sixteen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean Larry the dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. He seemed to like it. I bring it up only because my stomach is in knots like it was when we jumped.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis has been a bad day, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

The stranger frowned. \u201cWhat do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

Tim nodded. \u201cBad day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Continuing to frown, the skydiver said, \u201cYou are<\/em> him, aren\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

The art of barroom banter is not like playing Mozart on the piano. It\u2019s freestyle, a jam session. The rhythms are instinctual.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you him?\u201d the stranger asked again.<\/p>\n

Tim said, \u201cWho else would I be?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou look so\u2026ordinary.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI work at it,\u201d Tim assured him.<\/p>\n

The skydiver stared intently at him for a moment, but then lowered his eyes. \u201cI can\u2019t imagine being you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s no piece of cake,\u201d Tim said less playfully, and frowned to hear a note of sincerity in his voice.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnyway, I\u2019m just in a phase,\u201d Tim said more to himself than to his companion.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

Sliding the manila envelope across the bar, the guy said, \u201cHalf of it\u2019s there. Ten thousand. The rest when she\u2019s gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

As he finished speaking, the stranger turned on his stool, got to his feet, and headed toward the door.<\/p>\n

As Tim was about to call the man back, the terrible meaning of those eleven words clarified for him: Half of it\u2019s there. Ten thousand. The rest when she\u2019s gone.<\/em><\/p>\n

First astonishment\u2014and then an uncharacteristic clutch of fear\u2014choked off his voice.<\/p>\n

The skydiver was intent on bailing out of the bar. He quickly crossed the room, went through the door, fell away into the night.<\/p>\n

\u201cHey, wait a minute,\u201d Tim said, too softly and too late. \u201cWait.\u201d<\/p>\n

When you skate across the days, leaving a wake as thin as spider silk, you\u2019re not accustomed to shouting or to chasing after strangers with murder on their minds.<\/p>\n

By the time Tim realized pursuit was obligatory and got up from his stool, a successful chase could not have been mounted. The quarry had covered too much ground.<\/p>\n

He sat again and finished his beer in one long swallow.<\/p>\n

Foam clung to the sides of the glass. Those ephemeral patterns had never before seemed mysterious to him. Now he studied them as if they embodied great meaning.<\/p>\n

Feeling disoriented, he glanced at the manila envelope, which looked as portentous as a pipe bomb.<\/p>\n

Carrying two plates of cheeseburgers and fries, Liam Rooney served a young couple in one of the booths. No waitress worked on a slow Monday.<\/p>\n

Tim raised a hand to signal Rooney. The tavern keeper didn\u2019t notice; he returned to the bar gate at the farther end of the room.<\/p>\n

The envelope still had an ominous significance, but already Tim had begun to doubt that he had correctly understood what had happened between him and the stranger. A guy with a sky-diving dog named Larry wouldn\u2019t pay to have someone killed. All this was a misunderstanding.<\/p>\n

The rest when she\u2019s gone.<\/em> That could mean a lot of things. It didn\u2019t necessarily mean when she was dead<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Determined that the world would quickly be put right, Tim pried up the prongs of the brass clasp, opened the flap of the envelope, and reached inside. He withdrew a thick wad of hundred-dollar bills bound together with a rubber band.<\/p>\n

Maybe the money wasn\u2019t greasy, but that was how it felt. He returned it at once to the envelope.<\/p>\n

In addition to the cash, he found a five-by-seven photograph that might have been taken for a driver\u2019s license or passport. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Attractive.<\/p>\n

A name had been typed on the back of the photo: LINDA<\/small> PAQUETTE<\/small>. Under the name was an address in Laguna Beach.<\/p>\n

Although he had just finished a beer, Tim\u2019s mouth was salt-dry and lemon-sour. His heart beat slowly but unusually hard, booming in his ears.<\/p>\n

Irrationally, he felt guilty looking at the photo, as though he had somehow participated in the planning of this woman\u2019s death. He put away the picture. He slid the envelope aside.<\/p>\n

Another man entered the bar. He was nearly Tim\u2019s size, with brown hair cropped short like Tim\u2019s.<\/p>\n

Rooney arrived with a fresh beer and said to Tim, \u201cYou keep chugging them at that pace, you won\u2019t qualify as furniture anymore. You\u2019ll be a real customer.\u201d<\/p>\n

A persistent feeling of being caught in a dream slowed Tim\u2019s thinking. He meant to tell Rooney what had just happened, but his tongue felt thick.<\/p>\n

The newcomer approached, sat where the skydiver had sat, with an empty stool between him and Tim. He said to Rooney, \u201cBudweiser.\u201d<\/p>\n

As Rooney went to draw the beer, the stranger stared at the manila envelope, and then met Tim\u2019s gaze. He had brown eyes, just as Tim did.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re early,\u201d said the killer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

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Book Preview One 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 … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6381,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[421],"class_list":["post-6382","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-dean-koontz"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6382"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6382\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6381"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}