The Last Gift

By Dusty Sharp

Gifts can take on many forms, and in Austin Conrad's world, sometimes life itself is the greatest gift of all.

It's Christmas Eve and all Austin Conrad wants is to close up shop and spend the rest of the night with Frankie. But trouble has a way of finding him, and his sense of duty won't let him turn away when a stranger needs his help. Before the sun rises on Christmas day Austin must race through Las Vegas' seedy underworld to save a life…or take one.

If you are new to Austin Conrad, The Last Gift is a bite-sized introduction to this tough, memorable antihero who readers are comparing to "Jack Reacher meets Sons of Anarchy." If you've ridden shotgun with Austin before, you'll love this quick trip back into his world, with cameos from some of your favorite side characters from previous books.

Warning: contains violence, profanity and irreverence, in equal measure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dusty Sharp
• Release date: Sep 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393882596

Dusty Sharp

Dusty Sharp lives in Southern California with his wife, Stephanie, and four English Mastiffs.  He enjoys exploring the back-country of the desert southwest, and driving or tinkering on his Early Ford Broncos.  Dusty enjoys good cigars, better food, and great beer.  He has had a lifelong interest in the history of California and the west, and is a proud brother of E Clampus Vitus, Billy Holcomb Chapter 1069.  His professional background is in marketing, having worked for many years in the RV and off-road vehicle industries.  No Time To Bleed is his first published work of fiction.

Book preview

THE LAST GIFT

An Austin Conrad Novelette

by

Dusty Sharp

Originally Published In:

DEAD OF WINTER

A Thriller Anthology

Copyright © 2019-2020 Dusty Sharp

All rights reserved.

For my Dead Of Winter collaborators: Nick Thacker, Jim Heskett, David Berens, M.P. MacDougall, Kevin Tumlinson, R.A. McGee, and Steven Moore.

Thanks for letting me play in your reindeer games.

One

Let’s go, fella, Austin said again as he shook the man’s shoulder. Time to go home. Santa’s almost here.

It was Christmas Eve and the Patty Waggin was closing early in order to give the hired help the rest of the night off to be with their families. The dancers, along with Teddy, the door man, and Sandy, Frankie’s assistant manager, had left at ten o’clock. But Frankie was still behind the bar, dunking beer mugs into a sink full of suds, rinsing and placing them into the drying rack.

Austin had come into the club to help out with the shut-down. He and Frankie were equal partners in the Patty Waggin, a gentleman’s club in the industrial section of Las Vegas. But Austin didn’t actually work there. At least, not in the normal sense. He preferred to remain somewhat of a silent partner when it came to the club’s day-to-day operations. Mostly he was a fixer, taking care of problems big and small whenever they might pop up. A barstool might need its screws tightened. The gravel in the back lot might need to be re-dragged or the walk-in cooler might be on the fritz and need someone to take a look at it. Some creep might be getting too touchy with the girls and need to be touched up himself a little bit. Those were Austin’s usual tasks.

But tonight he had found himself swabbing out the restrooms and re-stocking the bar while Frankie put up the chairs and swept the floors.

The only other soul left in the place was a stranger, peacefully sleeping at the end of the bar. Frankie had told Austin not to bother him when they shooed the last of the customers away as the lights went up after last call. May as well let him sleep off a bit of his drunk before sending him out, she had said. But now, both he and Frankie were about done with their chores and it was time for him to go.

Austin shook the man’s shoulder again, a little more forcefully this time. Come on now fella, he said, his voice growing more stern. I ain’t gonna tell ya again. Let’s go. Now! Before I drag you out by your ear.

Frankie looked up from her work at the wash sink. Take it easy on him, Austin. He tipped well.

Austin raised an eyebrow. So? They all tip well, don’t they?

She shrugged. Not all of them. And they don’t always tip the bartender. Most of their tip money goes to the girls. As it should.

Austin nodded toward Frankie’s chest, which was spectacularly displayed despite being half-covered now by the apron she had donned to do the cleanup work. You’ve got your fans too, he pointed out.

Yeah, well, I don’t think he was one of them. He never seemed to take his eyes off his beer. When they were still open, that is. He was brooding on something. Maybe crying a little.

That so? Crying?

Well I didn’t pay too much attention to him. We were busy tonight. Lots of men dropping in when they were probably supposed to be out doing some last-minute Christmas shopping. But I thought I’d saw a sparkle of wetness in his eyes once when he looked up to order another beer. But he mostly just kept to himself. He waved away the first few girls that came over to see if he wanted a dance. They all left him alone after that.

I see. Well, there’s no crying in baseball, and there damn sure ain’t no crying in titty bars. At least not this one. I suppose I’d better haul him outside.

Well be gentle. He’s not some biker wearing the wrong colors on your turf.

Austin looked at her, his smile gone. I gave all that up last summer.

I know you did. But you’re still you, darling. You can still be a little…heavy handed…at times.

That so?

It’s not a bad thing, Frankie replied quickly. "Its