Read Online Forced Out by Stephen Frey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephen Frey
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, adventure, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Suspense fiction, Espionage, Modern fiction, Baseball, Sports & Recreation, Fiction - Espionage, Murder for hire, Sports, Crime thriller
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container a second time. "You want another one?" he growled, holding it up so close to her face she instinctively backed up until her wide hips hit the Toyota. "You really want another one?" He turned and hurled the margarine as far as he could. Admiring its arc until it finally tumbled into the field next to the parking lot, startling a great gray heron that was stalking something in a puddle out there. For sixty-three he still had a pretty good arm. "Then, like I said, get it yourself." She started shrieking at the top of her lungs as he stalked off.
He pulled the apron over his head when he reached his car--an old Chevy Citation he'd picked up at a government auction last year in Tampa for seven hundred bucks--and pulled the flask out, taking a long swig. His shift didn't end for an hour, but he wasn't going to get caught up in the firestorm he assumed the woman was going to create inside the store. Then he might miss the game. Nope, he'd just show up in the morning like nothing happened and see what was what.
From over the roof of the Citation he watched the woman quickstep back toward the store in her heels and tight skirt, still shrieking in a high-pitched wail. He took another healthy gulp of scotch. What a train wreck. No wonder she was a widow. Her husband had probably committed suicide. And he was probably a lot happier where he was now. Wherever that was.
Thirty seconds later Jack was wheeling the Citation out of the Publix parking lot, feeling that excitement building in his chest--and he wasn't even anywhere near the ballpark. God, he'd caught baseball fever again so fast. Last night had brought it all back. Brought back his incredible love for the game, the comforting feeling that he couldn't think of anyplace in the world he'd rather be. It was like being in the womb when he was at a baseball stadium--safe and warm. Last night hadn't washed away all the bad memories, but it had proven to him the truth to an old adage he'd never really believed in: if you really loved something or someone, time healed all wounds. The scars stayed with you, but you could forgive and move on, maybe even learn from the pain. Even at his age. He eased off the accelerator, reminding himself to slow down. There was plenty of time before the first pitch, and he couldn't afford another ticket. When he'd been pulled over last month doing seventy in a forty-five on his way home one night, the cop had nearly made him take a Breathalyzer test--which he would have failed. Miserably, too. Fortunately the guy had shown mercy and told him just to get his sorry ass home and sleep it off. He'd always cursed cops before then. Figured they were never around when you needed them but were always around when you didn't. Now he figured maybe they were people, too. At least some of them. Despite the fact that the guy still had given him a speeding ticket.
Jack raced up fast behind a white station wagon. Too fast. Came way too close to the guy's bumper now that he was starting to feel the scotch. He took another guzzle anyway. Damn that Bobby Griffin. He'd gotten to Cheryl, gotten inside her head. That unfortunate reality had been tattooed all over her face last night at the game, then again at home. Bobby had convinced her there was a chance for them to have something meaningful. The end was going to be awful, but Jack promised himself not to give her the I-told-you-so speech when it happened. He shook his head and took another swig. At least he didn't have to worry about Cheryl moving out anytime soon. She was so right. That would be a bad day. A very bad day. Well, he was going to do his best to make sure it never happened.
He banged the steering wheel so hard he yelped at the pain shooting up his arm. That wasn't fair. If he really loved her, he had to let her go. That was the bottom line, what any parent eventually had to do.
But how the hell was he supposed to survive after that?
10
J OHNNY KNELT DOWN in front of the gravestone, laid a
He pulled the apron over his head when he reached his car--an old Chevy Citation he'd picked up at a government auction last year in Tampa for seven hundred bucks--and pulled the flask out, taking a long swig. His shift didn't end for an hour, but he wasn't going to get caught up in the firestorm he assumed the woman was going to create inside the store. Then he might miss the game. Nope, he'd just show up in the morning like nothing happened and see what was what.
From over the roof of the Citation he watched the woman quickstep back toward the store in her heels and tight skirt, still shrieking in a high-pitched wail. He took another healthy gulp of scotch. What a train wreck. No wonder she was a widow. Her husband had probably committed suicide. And he was probably a lot happier where he was now. Wherever that was.
Thirty seconds later Jack was wheeling the Citation out of the Publix parking lot, feeling that excitement building in his chest--and he wasn't even anywhere near the ballpark. God, he'd caught baseball fever again so fast. Last night had brought it all back. Brought back his incredible love for the game, the comforting feeling that he couldn't think of anyplace in the world he'd rather be. It was like being in the womb when he was at a baseball stadium--safe and warm. Last night hadn't washed away all the bad memories, but it had proven to him the truth to an old adage he'd never really believed in: if you really loved something or someone, time healed all wounds. The scars stayed with you, but you could forgive and move on, maybe even learn from the pain. Even at his age. He eased off the accelerator, reminding himself to slow down. There was plenty of time before the first pitch, and he couldn't afford another ticket. When he'd been pulled over last month doing seventy in a forty-five on his way home one night, the cop had nearly made him take a Breathalyzer test--which he would have failed. Miserably, too. Fortunately the guy had shown mercy and told him just to get his sorry ass home and sleep it off. He'd always cursed cops before then. Figured they were never around when you needed them but were always around when you didn't. Now he figured maybe they were people, too. At least some of them. Despite the fact that the guy still had given him a speeding ticket.
Jack raced up fast behind a white station wagon. Too fast. Came way too close to the guy's bumper now that he was starting to feel the scotch. He took another guzzle anyway. Damn that Bobby Griffin. He'd gotten to Cheryl, gotten inside her head. That unfortunate reality had been tattooed all over her face last night at the game, then again at home. Bobby had convinced her there was a chance for them to have something meaningful. The end was going to be awful, but Jack promised himself not to give her the I-told-you-so speech when it happened. He shook his head and took another swig. At least he didn't have to worry about Cheryl moving out anytime soon. She was so right. That would be a bad day. A very bad day. Well, he was going to do his best to make sure it never happened.
He banged the steering wheel so hard he yelped at the pain shooting up his arm. That wasn't fair. If he really loved her, he had to let her go. That was the bottom line, what any parent eventually had to do.
But how the hell was he supposed to survive after that?
10
J OHNNY KNELT DOWN in front of the gravestone, laid a
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