Read Online 1 Motor City Shakedown by Jonathan Watkins - Free Book Online

ain’t yours neither. There’s a clock running down on this.”
    “I am aware of the urgency .”
    “Then why ’re we talking about newspapers?"
    Malcolm stood and eased out the other side of the booth, briefcase in hand.
    “A concern,” he said.
    Darnell waited, finally said “Okay, what? What’s your little worry?”
    “That there is a department that wants this thing done,” Malcolm said. “This man was nearly killed by the authorities. And now I am being asked to finish what they failed to accomplish. So a question occurs to me, Darnell. I wonder if you have been breathing a name out into the air, a name you know you should always fear to speak aloud to others. I wonder if I am doing a thing not for you, but for these little paper warriors who were incapable of silencing a man. This is my worry, Darnell. And now you tell me that it is not so.”
    Darnell took a long, slow breath in through his nose and heard his heart thrumming in his ears. The deadliest man he had ever known was waiting for Darnell to make assurances that he couldn’t honestly make.
    “Malcolm, that’s crazy as hell.”
    “Crazy. Is that so?”
    “That ’s right. This is just me and my people, man.”
    The big man in the construction worker’s clothing remained rooted over Darnell for another moment, as inscrutable as stone. Then he turned and walked out of the Coney Island. Darnell watched him disappear into the gray middle distance.
    ‘Shit!’ he thought, anxiously fishing for the cell phone in the pocket of his slacks.
    Darnell glanced superstitiously out where Malcolm had disappeared back into the crumbling blocks of Detroit. His manicured fingers started pushing numbers on the cell phone.
     
    *
     
    Allen’s voice was an impatient growl.
    “Wait, hold on. You mean he gives a shit?”
    “S’what I’m saying. The m an was serious.”
    “Well, that’s just insane. What’s it matter who wants the job done?”
    “To him? It matters.”
    “ I don’t know how plugged into reality your pet psycho is but, um, maybe you ought to point out he’s already been putting people down for us.”
    “ No, I probably ain’t going to mention that. He ain’t nobody’s pet. You need to understand that, Cap’n.”
    “I’m not a fucking Captain, Darnell. ”
    “Yeah, okay . Just, you know, my man twigs to you and yours…that’s gonna be a problem. A real problem.”
    “Listen—“
    “Cuz he ain’t no pet. And he’s got strong opinions about, you know…”
    “Cops. He hates cops. Color me shocked.”
    “Not just cops. Institutions. Systems. Man’s got a very spooky philosophy about human beings, is what I’m saying. He’s different.”
    “I know what he is. He’s just another in a long line of guys like him. As long as everything happens like you say, I don’t give a shit what’s in his head. Or in yours. Next time you get all scared by the boogieman, call your mother. This phone is emergency only.”
    “You keep it in mind is all I’m saying, bro.”
    “All you’re saying, bro , is good-bye. Ciao. ”
     
    *
     
    Darren was in his booth at the back of Winkle’s Tavern, using a black marker to label a pile of manila folders with titles like “Motions”, “Evidence”, “Laws and Cases”, “Investigation”, “Billing” and, finally, “The Big Story”.
    The front entrance door swung open and became a rectangle of bright morning light amidst the gloom of the bar. Theresa’s substantial form appeared, followed haltingly by Isabella.
    He waited, but Issabella didn’t move any further than where she stood in the entranceway. Theresa had made her way behind the bar and was unscrewing the lid off a big blue coffee can.
    “She alright?” Darren said, hushed.
    “Hung-over, I think.”
    “Oh.”
    He heard Issabella say something, but it wasn’t loud enough for him to understand. He was about to push himself out of the booth and walk down to her when she started moving. Slowly, her head turning to look at