Read Online All the Lucky Ones Are Dead by Gar Anthony Haywood - Free Book Online Page A

partner again.
    But that had been nineteen years ago. Time enough for Jolly to make like a model citizen inside and maybe earn himself an early release. He wouldn’t be the first convicted killer to get off so lightly.
    Gunner told Mickey he’d be right in, then hung up the phone. Later, sitting in the idling red Cobra, he checked and reloaded the clip in his nine-millimeter Ruger before putting the car in gear.
    Mickey was waiting for him out on the street upon his arrival. The barber ran up to the car as Gunner pulled it to the curb and said, “He’s still in there. Lookin’ like somebody shot his mother. You sure I shouldn’t call the cops?”
    â€œI’m sure,” Gunner said, joining his landlord on the sidewalk. “I told you, he’s a friend.”
    â€œA friend, huh? Baddest-lookin’ friend I ever saw. Whoever named ’im Jolly must’ve had one helluva sense of humor.”
    â€œAnybody else in there right now?”
    â€œNo. I closed up early. If what I think is gonna happen when you go in there happens, I don’t want nobody around to get hurt and sue me afterward. I can’t afford that kind of trouble, I’m sorry.”
    The two men entered the silent barbershop together; then Gunner went straight back to his office, waving at Mickey to stay put out front. He stepped into the muted light of the room and Jolly jumped up from the couch like a man caught sleeping with another man’s wife. Gunner noticed immediately that he hadn’t changed much in nineteen years; prison food had thinned him out some, but he still stood six-foot-six in his stocking feet, and was as wide across the chest as a small forklift.
    â€œSo there you are,” Jolly said, smiling nervously.
    â€œJolly. What’s up?” Gunner answered.
    The eyes in his friend’s peanut-shaped head turned to the nine-auto Gunner was training on his midsection, and the big man’s smile lost a fraction of its enthusiasm. “Hey, man. It ain’t like that, is it?”
    â€œI don’t know, partner. You tell me.”
    â€œI didn’t come here to bust you up, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Jolly said, angry now. “I just wanna talk to you, that’s all.”
    Gunner searched his smooth, babylike face for deceit, couldn’t really find any. He took a calculated risk and slipped the gun back into the front waistband of his pants. “What do we have to talk about, Jolly?” he asked, starting forward to take the chair behind his desk.
    Jolly let him take two steps, then lunged at him to throw a right hand, nearly broke Gunner’s jaw with a blow that barely landed. Gunner hit the back of his head on his desk as he fell to the floor, tried to draw the Ruger from his pants before the big man could reach him, but Jolly wouldn’t have it. He pounced like a cat, seized the Ruger with his left hand and Gunner’s throat with his right, then slowly drew the investigator to his feet, intent on looking Gunner straight in the eye when he broke his neck.
    â€œYou should’ve stopped me, Gunner,” Jolly said.
    Mickey burst into the room seconds later, armed with the only weapon he ever kept in the place, a Louisville Slugger signed by Ken Griffey, Jr.—but he was too late. All the excitement was over. Jolly was sitting on the couch again, hunched over and breathing heavily, while Gunner lay in a heap on the floor, right where the giant black man had dropped him.
    â€œIt’s okay, Mickey,” Gunner said, rising slowly to his feet.
    â€œI told you this was gonna happen! Didn’t I tell you?”
    â€œNothing happened. We’re okay. Get the hell out of here, will you?”
    But Mickey wasn’t easily reassured. Still holding the bat at the ready, his body poised for attack, he glared at Jolly, who had yet to even glance his way, and said, “Nothin’ happened, my ass! He tried to kill you,