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.
I’m blessed, really. The DeVille is old enough for my slim jim to work on it. I’ll try not to scratch the car’s finish. It’s in pristine condition. The fuckhead probably has it detailed once a week.
I’m good with the slim jim. Back when I was on patrol, I was the guy they called when citizens locked their keys in their cars or when there was a search warrant. Nowadays, a slim jim is useless unless it’s an old-model car.
I scan my surroundings again. On one side of the building is a small side street with zero traffic on it. I look up at the rear entrance, too. Gotta be cautious.
I get the slim jim placed just right, near the inside door handle. Move it up slowly, feel the rod, and pull up.
Lock pops up. With any luck there’s no new-type alarm system. Even then I can do what I have to do very fast.
I open the door.
No alarm.
I pop the trunk, close the door quietly, move around to the rear of the car, and lift the trunk lid to look inside.
Fuck me!
I huff out a half chuckle ’cause I’m so happy. It’s like Christmas.
A couple hundred records and an equal number of CDs are stacked in several piles along the large bed of the trunk. I don’t even have to look through them to know they’re mine. The cover edges I can see reveal the titles. Fucking Fugazi, Ramones, Funkadelic, Velvet Underground, Johnny Cash, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, just to name a few, and then the CDs—Spacemen 3, the Cave Singers, Pogues, and so many more. And then there’s a laptop, but it isn’t mine. Why would that motherfucker keep all this in the trunk of his car with everything going down around him? Arrogant asshole or just stupid. Maybe he’s gonna dispose of it all.
Whatever. I feel…so vindicated. But I know I have to make another sacrifice. I can’t take anything. It’s a chance, because Hurley is the only one who can make the connection, so I’m hoping he gets a call if—or, I hope, when—Jasper gets nabbed.
I place the money beneath two stacks of records. I set the boxes of zips and the rose pipes in a space toward the front, then open the box of zips and scatter some around the same area. I also sprinkle a bit of cocaine on the trunk liner and on a plastic Pogues CD case. I take out five of the rose pipes so it looks like he sold a few.
I quietly close the trunk and return to the front door. I check under the seat using my Streamlight.
Nothing there. Clean dude.