Read Online Fourth Victim by Reed Farrel Coleman - Free Book Online Page A

break. He should have known better than to think that bad times earn you anything good. Just as he was passing by one of the few other cars in the lot, the driver’s side door swung open behind him and smacked hard into the back of his bad leg.
    The ironic part about it was that the bullet that had shattered Serpe’s femur and nicked his femoral artery might have been fired by a dead man. When the cops burst in on the Russians, bullets were spraying everywhere. Joe had never wanted to know if the bullet was part of the spray or if it came from that sick fuck Pavel’s handgun. Pavel—the man who had tormented Marla—died that night too, so he really didn’t see the point.
    None of that mattered now as Joe collapsed face first in a heap on the cold blacktop. His leg had healed as well as it was ever going to heal and could pretty much take the daily stresses delivering oil put on it, but any direct hit like the one he’d just got, put him right down.
    “What’s a matter, fuck face, you fall down and go boom?” It was Detective Hoskins. “Here, let me help you up, scum bag.” He grabbed Serpe by the back of his coat and yanked him up so that Joe’s body-weight sat right atop his bad leg. “You look like your’re hurtin’, Snake. Let me fix that.” He kicked Serpe square in the solar plexus with the toe of his shoe and Serpe went down gasping for breath.
    Hoskins just stood over him patiently waiting for Serpe to try and get up. But a patient temperment wasn’t a description that fit Tim Hoskins, so he got on his knees next to Serpe and put his lips almost against Joe’s left ear. His breath smelled of old beer, fresh garlic, and hatred. “Listen to me, you cowardly-cunt-rat-cheese-eatin’-bastard. You already embarrassed me once with what you did with the Russians. Once is too much, but there’s nothin’ I can do about it now. But I hear you been askin’ around about these murders. That’s right, asshole, somebody ratted you out instead of the other way around. How’s it feel to get the dime dropped on you?”
    “Drop dead.”
    Hoskins laughed and the air got colder. “Stop sticking your nose in my shit. Stop it now! Stop it now or I’ll get into the oil driver murderin’ business my own fuckin’ self. Understand?”
    “Fuck you!” Serpe coughed.
    “Fuck me, huh?” He kicked Serpe in the ribs and then did it again. “Fuck me, huh?”
    “You deaf or just ugly?” He kicked him again.
    The headlights of a car swept across the lot. “Fuck me, huh?”
    “Get that hearing aid fixed, motherfucker.” Hoskins reared his leg back.
    “Hey!” a woman screamed. “What are you doing? Leave him alone. I’m dialing nine-one-one right now.” She waved her open and lit up cell phone at Hoskins.
    “Remember, cocksucker, you been warned.” Hoskins got in his car and tore out of the lot, tires squealing as he went.
    “You okay?” the woman asked, helping pull Joe up in a sitting position.
    “I’ve been better. Thanks,” he said, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.
    “Who was that guy?”
    “An incompetent, frightened little prick.”
    “Whatever.”
    With his feet firmly under him, Serpe took a closer look at his rescuer. She was, he guessed, about thirty with a pretty, but hard face. Her brown hair was cut short and her eyes were pennies with some of the shine worn off. She was about five foot five, curvy, but thick through the neck and body. She wore a black leather coat over a plain black dress and black, low-heeled shoes.
    “Joe Serpe.” He shook her hand. “I’m here for Rusty’s wake.”
    She took his hand. “Georgine Monaco. Rusty’s little sister. You a cop?”
    “Used to be, Georgine.”
    “Call me Gigi, G-i-g-i, like two soldiers. Everybody calls me that.” “Your brother saved my life once, Gigi.”
    She laughed. “Probably the only good thing he ever done. He was a prick, my big bro. Easy to tell with this overwhelming outpouring of love. Look at this parking