Read Online Dead in the Rose City: A Dean Drake Mystery by R. Barri Flowers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. Barri Flowers
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it,” I said,
grinding my teeth. “You do—and they do—”
Before Dirk could reach into his pocket, I
grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and shattered it across his
head. Clarence stood up and took a wild swing. I blocked it, moved
closer, and gave him a head butt that was guaranteed to leave him
seeing stars for days.
Hearing Dirk staggering up behind me, I
turned on him and his contorted, bloodied face, beating him to the
punch. I dug my fist twice into his large, soft belly and followed
with an uppercut under his double chin. This brought him to his
knees.
All the while Vincente watched in
fascination, as if glued to his seat.
Clarence had recovered enough to get me into
a bear hug. I winced from the increasing pressure. It was nothing
that couldn’t be alleviated with a dislocating back kick to his
kneecap. He screamed in pain, releasing me and putting all his
weight on his good leg.
“Son of a bitch,” he cried. “You broke my
leg!”
“It would hurt less if I had, asshole,” I
told him without sympathy.
I grabbed his plate of spaghetti and cracked
it across his head, followed by a solid shot to the jaw. He
crumpled to the floor like a building being demolished, putting him
effectively out of commission.
Fortunately, for his sake, Dirk stayed put.
Unfortunately, he went for his piece. My foot was quicker, knocking
it away from him. I pretended his head was a football and kicked a
field goal right under and into his nose. He screamed and grabbed
his broken nose as blood spurted out, crying like a newborn
baby.
Realizing I was never going to put these two
animals out for the long count, I pulled out my Glock and placed it
to the head of a suddenly quivering Vincente. “That’s enough for
this round, gorillas,” I announced triumphantly. “Unless you want
to see Vinny’s brains match what’s on his plate.”
They got the message and didn’t try anything
stupid. I wondered if Vincente had gotten the message.
“You got your payback, Drake,” he groaned
shamefully. “Let’s leave it at that—”
“Let’s not, asshole!” I pressed the gun into
his throbbing temple. “I want The Worm and I think you know where I
can find your cousin .”
“We don’t sleep in the same bed,” Vincente
stammered desperately. “He never stays in one place too long.”
“Where was the last place he stayed?” The
barrel was digging deeper into his thick skin. “I hope my finger
doesn’t fall asleep—”
Self-preservation was the staple of every
street hood. Vincente was no exception. He slurred: “Last I knew he
was hangin’ at the Rest Rooms motel.”
I suspected Vincente was holding back on me.
But since I doubted he would risk his life for a scumbag like
Jessie Wylson, I decided now was not the time to see what other
sordid secrets he had up his sleeve.
He breathed a sigh of relief when I pulled
the gun way from his perspiring face. “If you want me, Vincente,
next time I suggest you don’t send your goons to do the job.” I
glared at the two, still moaning from their injuries and wounded
pride.
With my Glock still aimed at the trio, I made
sure no one got any crazy ideas as I vacated the premises, feeling
a hell of a lot better than when I went in.
* * *
It didn’t take long before Vincente and Dirk
helped a hobbling Clarence out of Alfonzo’s. He and Dirk got in one
car, Vincente another. They went their separate ways.
It was following Vincente that interested
me.
He drove a white Corvette with the license
plate: BVINNY. I followed him to a side street and watched as he
pulled behind another car that looked a lot like the Cutlass I saw
in the driveway at The Worm’s last known address.
Out of it stepped Terri, the alleged
ex-girlfriend of Jessie Wylson. Their encounter was short, but no
doubt sweet, before Vincente took off in his car at the speed of
light.
My attention had switched to Terri who had
called herself Nicole. She looked as if she had just been told
there was a
grinding my teeth. “You do—and they do—”
Before Dirk could reach into his pocket, I
grabbed a bottle of wine off the table and shattered it across his
head. Clarence stood up and took a wild swing. I blocked it, moved
closer, and gave him a head butt that was guaranteed to leave him
seeing stars for days.
Hearing Dirk staggering up behind me, I
turned on him and his contorted, bloodied face, beating him to the
punch. I dug my fist twice into his large, soft belly and followed
with an uppercut under his double chin. This brought him to his
knees.
All the while Vincente watched in
fascination, as if glued to his seat.
Clarence had recovered enough to get me into
a bear hug. I winced from the increasing pressure. It was nothing
that couldn’t be alleviated with a dislocating back kick to his
kneecap. He screamed in pain, releasing me and putting all his
weight on his good leg.
“Son of a bitch,” he cried. “You broke my
leg!”
“It would hurt less if I had, asshole,” I
told him without sympathy.
I grabbed his plate of spaghetti and cracked
it across his head, followed by a solid shot to the jaw. He
crumpled to the floor like a building being demolished, putting him
effectively out of commission.
Fortunately, for his sake, Dirk stayed put.
Unfortunately, he went for his piece. My foot was quicker, knocking
it away from him. I pretended his head was a football and kicked a
field goal right under and into his nose. He screamed and grabbed
his broken nose as blood spurted out, crying like a newborn
baby.
Realizing I was never going to put these two
animals out for the long count, I pulled out my Glock and placed it
to the head of a suddenly quivering Vincente. “That’s enough for
this round, gorillas,” I announced triumphantly. “Unless you want
to see Vinny’s brains match what’s on his plate.”
They got the message and didn’t try anything
stupid. I wondered if Vincente had gotten the message.
“You got your payback, Drake,” he groaned
shamefully. “Let’s leave it at that—”
“Let’s not, asshole!” I pressed the gun into
his throbbing temple. “I want The Worm and I think you know where I
can find your cousin .”
“We don’t sleep in the same bed,” Vincente
stammered desperately. “He never stays in one place too long.”
“Where was the last place he stayed?” The
barrel was digging deeper into his thick skin. “I hope my finger
doesn’t fall asleep—”
Self-preservation was the staple of every
street hood. Vincente was no exception. He slurred: “Last I knew he
was hangin’ at the Rest Rooms motel.”
I suspected Vincente was holding back on me.
But since I doubted he would risk his life for a scumbag like
Jessie Wylson, I decided now was not the time to see what other
sordid secrets he had up his sleeve.
He breathed a sigh of relief when I pulled
the gun way from his perspiring face. “If you want me, Vincente,
next time I suggest you don’t send your goons to do the job.” I
glared at the two, still moaning from their injuries and wounded
pride.
With my Glock still aimed at the trio, I made
sure no one got any crazy ideas as I vacated the premises, feeling
a hell of a lot better than when I went in.
* * *
It didn’t take long before Vincente and Dirk
helped a hobbling Clarence out of Alfonzo’s. He and Dirk got in one
car, Vincente another. They went their separate ways.
It was following Vincente that interested
me.
He drove a white Corvette with the license
plate: BVINNY. I followed him to a side street and watched as he
pulled behind another car that looked a lot like the Cutlass I saw
in the driveway at The Worm’s last known address.
Out of it stepped Terri, the alleged
ex-girlfriend of Jessie Wylson. Their encounter was short, but no
doubt sweet, before Vincente took off in his car at the speed of
light.
My attention had switched to Terri who had
called herself Nicole. She looked as if she had just been told
there was a
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