Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
He looked up at me. “It wasn’t personal.”
Maybe I could believe that about North Haven. But this, tonight? Planting a bomb in a bar full of hard-working men? Not to mention Maggie. I saw red again and punched Baxter’s fat head, knocking him out.
I threw the bomb into his car and slammed the door. I looked around as I jogged back to my car. No one was around. No one had seen. No one was in harm’s way.
I started up my car and pulled out, making a U-turn. With one last glance in the rearview mirror, I pressed the button on the other fob on Baxter’s keychain. For the second time in a week, I felt an explosion. Heard the car alarms go off. And knew that Baxter was no more.
I tossed his keys on the seat next to me and drove away.
9
SLATER
The noise of my cell phone buzzing on the nightstand pried me from my deep sleep. I reached over, my eyelids refusing to open. By feel, I brought it to my ear.
The only acceptable interruption to my sleep would be if it was the stripper I’d slipped my number to earlier before the shit hit the fan.
But it wasn’t.
“It’s me,” a familiar voice said.
“Julian?” I croaked and sat up. “What the fuck? You okay?”
“Remember Baxter?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all he is. A memory.”
“Holy shit. Seriously?” I shook my head and lowered the cell phone enough for me to see it, as if I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “Is this a joke?”
“No.” His voice was grim. Julian did what needed to be done, but he didn’t like it. “I found him outside of The Rusty Bucket. He was going to blow up the joint.”
“What? Why? They have the best sliders.”
“Yeah, well, I changed his plans for him. Let’s just say that his Beamer has a pretty big sunroof in it now,” Julian said. “Anyway, I need a favor.”
Instantly, alertness filled me. If one of my buddies needed something, then by god I was going to do it. “I’m listening.”
“I want you to go down there and check if anybody saw me.”
“You let someone see you?” My voice rose two octaves up.
“No, but you never know. Just pass by and check things out for me. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” I breathed out. Part of me still wondered if Julian was serious. “You really took care of that little twerp?”
“Yes. Are you heading out?”
“Yeah.”
Questions tumbled around my head as I pulled on some jeans. Somehow, Julian had just stumbled into Baxter? Who, for some reason, was going to bomb Maggie’s bar? That shit made no sense. But at least the story had a happy ending.
Gambini’s little bitch had caused us a major headache. We’d been trying to get our hands on him, but we hadn’t had any luck.
So yeah, I’d go check it out. Make sure my buddy had done the job cleanly.
And I hoped like hell I’d see a big crater in the street.
10
MAGGIE
“There was an arm on the street. An arm! Right there in the middle of the street!” Burt, the retiree, wouldn’t stop saying that. To anyone and everyone in the Rusty Bucket who would listen.
When the car bomb went off, smoke and debris had filled the street. I’d practically had to wrestle Burt away from the door. He had as much sense as a tree trunk.
Minutes after that explosion, five patrol cars showed up on the scene. Cops in uniform wanted to interview everybody in that bar, while forensics collected evidence and what remained of the unfortunate guy in that car. Predictably, I had to close down the bar and wait for my turn to talk to the police.
Newsflash: revved up customers who’d just witnessed a crime were lousy tippers. Not that anyone who came in this place had a lot of discretionary cash.
Well, except Rock, Julian, and Slater. It wasn’t like they were rich, but they seemed to get by okay.
I frowned as I wiped down the counter of the bar. Hopefully those guys were nowhere near here tonight. The odds of them being the poor bastard in the car were very low, but still, I worried.
It took cops two hours to get to talk to me. The whole thing lasted ten minutes or so. After that, they said I was free to go.
Frustrated and angry with those idiots, I locked up and headed out.
Thankfully, my apartment was not far from my workplace. When I’d had no more money for college, I’d had to look for a job and a place to live nearby. One of the cooks had to take three busses to get here.
I walked briskly down the street, trying to ignore the wreckage in the street. Even though I walked this route every night after work, strain filled me. It felt as if one crime, the car bomb, had made it fair game for other crimes to take place.