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Back Crime Song Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Forty-Nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-One
  56. Fifty-Two
  57. Fifty-Three
  58. Fifty-Four
  59. Fifty-Five
  60. Fifty-Six
  61. Fifty-Seven
  62. Fifty-Eight
  63. Fifty-Nine
  64. Sixty
  65. Sixty-One
  66. Sixty-Two
  67. Sixty-Three
  68. Sixty-Four
  69. Sixty-Five
  70. Sixty-Six
  71. Sixty-Seven
  72. Sixty-Eight
  73. Sixty-Nine
  74. Seventy
  75. Seventy-One
  76. Seventy-Two
  77. Seventy-Three
  78. Seventy-Four
  79. Seventy-Five
  80. Seventy-Six
  81. Seventy-Seven
  82. Seventy-Eight
  83. Seventy-Nine
  84. Eighty
  85. Eighty-One
  86. Eighty-Two
  87. Eighty-Three
  88. Eighty-Four
  89. Eighty-Five
  90. Eighty-Six
  91. Eighty-Seven
  92. Acknowledgements
  93. About the Author
  94. Also by David Swinson
  95. Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.

“Fuck,” I say to myself. “Oh, fuck.”

Did I just kill them?

I don’t want to know, so I just stand, pick up the shit bucket, and walk up the stairs to return it to the old lady.

She’s sleeping. I place the bucket near her bed and put the toilet seat quietly back on it. I gotta leave it like this, the way I found it. Mostly full.

I go in the room where I stuffed the crack under the mattress and retrieve it along with one of the semiautos.

I walk back down the stairs, still feeling a bit racy. I pull my knife out of my pocket and flick it open. I try not to look at their faces as I cut the zip ties that bind their feet to their hands, then I cut the rest of them off, freeing their hands and legs. I shove the gun under Younger’s body and toss the bag of crack on the sofa near the vomit.

I pick up my pack and the bag of money and exit the way I came in.

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Seven

I have to get to Leslie. Fuck. I gotta get there now.

When I get in my car I turn it on for the air. I’m too fucked up to drive. Too fucked up to walk. Here I am with a backpack filled with more coke than I’ve seen in years and a black construction bag almost half full with dirty money. It’d be enough to get me in federal court. Still, I have to get to Leslie’s house.

What did I do? What the hell did I do?

Damn. I haven’t been this fucked in a long, long time. Close my eyes, and the whole world spins. Burns to keep my eyes open. I adjust the vents so the cool air hits my face. That helps.

I give myself a bump to clear my head.

I back up to wedge my way out of the space. I hit the car behind me. “Shit.” I do the same to the car in front. I manage my way out, though, and drive.

Fucking autopilot.

And like time stopped, I’m on her block. How the fuck that happen? I drive by her house. Slow. Front door’s not busted in.

I park alongside a fire hydrant.

Something I gotta do before I go in. Can’t let too much time pass or everything I did at Riggs will go to fuck.

I call 911 on my burner.

Dispatcher answers.

I act as drunk as I really am: “I live on the thirteen hundred block of Riggs Street…Northwest…I saw two guys with guns run into the house across from me. Just now…yes…”

I give the address.