Read Online BULLETS by Elijah Drive - Free Book Online

radical, really. Just want to fuck with them.”
    “Fuck with them how?”
    Slick grinned at him, mimed his phone.
    “No. You recorded it?”
    “Whole thing. They kept the phone, so they suspect it, but—”
    “Wait, if they kept your phone, how the hell—”
    “Cloud-saved, dude.”
    “I don’t even know what that means.”
    “It means it was saved instantaneously on a separate drive. In the cloud.”
    “You don’t gotta plug the phone into something or—”
    “Nope. Happens automatically. Dude, you got to get with the times. There is email, Internet. There’s a whole world out there. Catch up. We have email.”
    “I hire people to do that for me. Damn. So what are you gonna do, show that shit to the ADA, make it public?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t really want it out there. It gets on YouTube and my face is everywhere getting night-sticked by a cop, that ain’t good business for us. But they don’t know that. Right now it’s leverage and I want to put the squeeze on this asshole and put the fear of karmic retribution into his soul.”
    Thumper thought about that for a minute then grinned.
    “You’re a piece of work, Slick, gotta say. What can I do?”
    “I need a new phone, a burner if you got it.”
    Thumper pulled out a phone, handed it over. “It’s a pre-paid. What else, you cool for money, got some dollars?”
    “Yeah, I got my cards and the Stutz cash. I owe you your share.”
    “Fuck that, keep it. You sure about backup? I can call Skinny for a referral.”
    “No, don’t. This isn’t business down here. It’s personal.”
    The restaurant door jingled and a man walked in, talking loud and cheerful on his cell phone to someone about a mortgage plan. He waved to the waiters and manager, taking a seat at a table by the door as he finished his call. He looked familiar, but Slick couldn’t place him at first. A banker or an insurance broker, from the look of his expensive suit and shoes, and he carried with him the air of someone who believed he could get along with everyone. The man glanced over, a natural smile on his face, and did a double take when he noticed Slick.
    The smile faded, and he stood back up and walked over to them. Thumper tensed; instantly ready to brain someone with a chair. Anger had built up in the smaller man ever since his friend hadn’t checked in, and he was about to burst. Slick waved him off with a private signal of theirs. He remembered where he knew the man from, finally.
    “Hey, sorry to bother you, you may not remember me, but…” he said.
    “I remember you. You were in the diner the day I was allegedly arrested,” Slick said. “You spoke up on my behalf, told the sheriff to give me a break because I was a tourist and tourists are good for business.”
    “Yes, that was me. I’m real sorry about what happened to you, I just wanted to come over and apologize on behalf of … well … the town I know and grew up with, the one I love. Del Martin,” he held out his hand. Slick considered it for a moment then shook the man’s hand.
    “Jon Elder. This is my friend Tommy Olson.”
    “Pleased to meet you, really. Would it be intruding if…”
    Slick waved and allowed the man to sit at the table with them. Thumper stayed silent, didn’t shake hands, didn’t speak, just caught Slick’s eye and let him know this was Slick’s show. Slick nodded and clocked their guest.
    He was in his late forties, well fed and groomed, sporting an expensive pinky ring and watch. Hair slicked back in a style preferred by Pat Riley a couple decades previous, and probably colored to keep the dark strands from going gray. Slick knew the type from poker tables, a salesman, but a good one, the kind who could sell ice to Eskimos. Fast with a smile or joke, keeping a quick patter going while he took your money away from you, chip-by-chip, dollar by dollar.
    “Listen, it was an ugly situation, what happened at the diner yesterday, and I … I can’t tell you how bad I feel