Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” He answered his phone on the second ring. While looking up at the sky, the sun almost blinded him as it was beginning to set for the day.
“Archer, we’ve got another delivery on the last pallet.”
“You can take care of it tomorrow. The parcels are already packed up.”
He disconnected the call, then stood out there thinking. It was almost showtime for Honey. The woman actually appeared enthusiastic, not a care in the world, but there was no way he was letting her do this without backup. He hadn’t told her, but he’d roped in a couple fellas he knew from South Dakota who owed him a favor as lookouts. He was careful what to tell them and gave a bogus reason for their job. One thing he’d learned the hard way was to be careful what he discussed with others, no matter how cool and loyal they appeared. He trusted Honey with all of his being, but he didn’t trust most people in the industry, even those who’d shown him nothing but respect. In his mind, the majority of motherfuckers could be bought or broken down fast to spill beans. He slipped a cigar from his pocket and lit it. Blowing smoke out the side of his mouth, he watched it waft away. He was excited about his evening plans, and that helped his tension. Couldn’t wait to be with his baby. His phone dinged, so he pulled it back out of his pocket. Is this a text message? Oh…
“Hey, Archer.” He turned in the direction of the back door when he heard his name being called. “The Five Guys Moving team said they need like fifty more boxes minimum. Apartment building bein’ renovated. Gotta move a bunch of tenants temporarily out. Last minute!” Miguel called out from the door.
“Size 36x16x16?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “We’ve got a big shipment comin’ in tomorrow, but I don’t like having absolutely nothing in case we need it for another emergency. So tell ’em we only have like seventy in stock right now, and we’ll give them sixty, with an 8% extra charge per box due to the timing and low inventory. We’ll even have them pre-assembled and load their truck for ’em. If they don’t go for it, let me know, but I think that’s fair.”
“Okay! Will do!” Miguel disappeared from the door, and he looked back out at the nothingness. His place was isolated, but in that isolation was peace. His lips curled so tight, his face hurt. Now, I’m not alone anymore… Now I’ve got somebody else besides just me and Irish to live for. Speaking of Irish, it seemed the little demon was on the move…
He grunted as he checked his phone and saw the little red dot still moving. His car. He leaned up against the side of the building, sighing and shaking his head. All of his cars were secretly equipped with an Apple AirTag hidden inconspicuously in the trunk. It appeared his classic Buick was headed towards the Ameristar Black Hawk Casino—one of Irish’s favorite places to destroy herself. It had to have been her… No one else would take his vehicle and head to their drug of choice like a bat out of hell.
She’s got my credit card… He thought about calling her and cursing her out, telling her to turn around and go back home. He considered jumping in his car and going to grab her ass, force her to return his vehicle and credit card, then toss her in a rehab for bettors. But then he realized he was going to have to let go…
Here’s what’s going to happen. My credit card folks are gonna call me because I don’t go there. They’re going to ask about suspicious activity on the card after she gets her first one or two withdrawals, and a stop will be put to the chargin’. By then, she’d have blown at least ten grand. She’ll come up with some scheme or lie, expecting me to buy it. We’ll argue, and then we’ll fall out, like we’ve done in the past from time to time.
Despite all of this more than likely realistic scenario, she knew what she was doing was wrong.
Irish is still fighting demons. And those red-skinned, horned, whip-tailed, sharp-fanged motherfuckers are winning…
…Some time later
Irish pulled into the large parking lot of the big discotheque and casino, the lights of the building and nearby insignias blinking and urging her on with their beauty and flair. She searched for a parking spot, hands sweaty with excitement. It took over fifteen minutes, but finally, she found a space and slid the vehicle in it like a hand into a warm, soft glove. Before she killed the engine, she gathered her things: purse, checked for her brother’s credit card yet again, and rocked out to Metallica’s, ‘If Darkness Had a Son.’ She began to squeeze the steering wheel, head banging in the car as she turned up the song to full volume. Dark, wavy strands flew about her face, her perfect coiffure ruined.