Chapters (95)
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- Seventy-Three
- Seventy-Four
- Seventy-Five
- Seventy-Six
- Seventy-Seven
- Seventy-Eight
- Seventy-Nine
- Eighty
- Eighty-One
- Eighty-Two
- Eighty-Three
- Eighty-Four
- Eighty-Five
- Eighty-Six
- Eighty-Seven
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by David Swinson
- Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
Sweat is starting to seep through my shirt now, beading on my forehead. He’s got an air conditioner in the window, but turning it on would muffle any sounds from outside.
I pull the blinds up to look out the window. He has the view of Riggs. I don’t see their car. Lot of headlights streaming along 14th, both north and south.
I go back to the closet, lift his coats off the hangers, and check the pockets before tossing them on the floor. Couple of live 9mm rounds in one, but that’s it. After I go through everything on the shelf, I stand back to survey the room, see if there’s anything I missed. Maybe, but I still go to the room across the hall. I can always come back if there’s time. I’ve blown a little over twenty minutes in here already.
Oddly enough, the next room is tidy. He has two laptops with power cords beside them. I check the machines. Not mine.
He has his own bathroom and a larger closet.
I tear the room apart, but all I find is a lot of drug paraphernalia, like assorted zips of all sizes, a scale, and two more guns, one a .357 chrome revolver with duct tape wrapped around the grip and the other an old 9mm Taurus. I leave them.
Shit. Maybe downstairs in the living room, kitchen, or one of the closets. Maybe they’re fucking out. I don’t want to waste much more time here.
Then something comes to me. It’s worth a shot, ’cause you never know. If I were executing a search warrant here with a few other guys, we’d certainly check every room out. So why not?
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Three
I knock lightly on the old lady’s door. Nothing, so I rap harder.
Hear a faint “Huh.”
I open the door and step in.
“You up, ma’am?”
“I’m never up,” she says, as if taking me literally.
“I can’t get outta here and deal with those good-for-nothin’ boys until I get what I came here for.”
She doesn’t respond.
“Do you know what they do to make their money?”
“I may be dyin’, but I ain’t a fool.”
I’m beginning to think she’s been dying for a long time.
“How often do they come in your bedroom here?”
“More than I care for.”
“Where do they go in here?”
“They take care of the bucket, but not enough.”
“Is there any spot they go to often?”
It seems like she’s hesitating.
“You said you have no mortgage, right? Home’s bought and paid for.”
“I said that.”
“Do they do anything for you except to empty the bucket on occasion?”
“Sometimes I have to eat.”
“Doesn’t seem like you eat enough.”
“Not hungry most of the time.”
She stares back at the ceiling.