Read Online Grinder by Mike Knowles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mike Knowles
Tags: Fiction, General, Noir fiction, Mystery & Detective, Mystery, Detective and Mystery Stories, Hard-Boiled, organized crime, Canadian Fiction, Canadian Literature
Ads: Link
on a side street and made my way around front to the door. The original front door had been replaced by a glass door encased in a heavy mesh with thick reinforced bars. The door had “Cam's Computer Den” stencilled at eye level. I pushed it open and immediately felt the heat of multiple computer hard drives and the warm bodies of several cats. The warm stale air rushed at the door like a genie escaping from a bottle.
A voice came out from behind a counter piled up with old computer keyboards and monitors. “Hep you?”
“What?” I said as I approached the counter.
“Ken I hep you?”
I saw a man hunched over a desk; he wore a headband that held a magnifying lens in front of his face. The desk light in front of him beamed an impossibly bright light down on the soldering iron in his right hand. He was a heavy man in the way that refrigerators were heavy. The back of his neck had a roll of fat that bulged out as though it were going to burst. His plaid shirt was a vast tight expanse over his back, stretching the pattern into something that resembled a magic eye poster. He sat on a stool with his legs spread wide apart. I imagined his almost-splits was only possible because it was necessary — he had to have a place for his stomach to rest while he was off his feet. His garbled speech was because of a piece of metal he was holding between his pursed lips.
“I need to use the Internet,” I said.
The man barely turned. “Don't do dat here, I dust fix compuders.”
“You have to have Internet access here. I just need it for a few minutes.”
“Go find an Internet café.”
“Twenty bucks for five minutes.”
He turned all the way around so I could see his face. His goatee pushed itself out of the heavy fat folds in his face. One of his eyes was huge in the magnifying lens. He pulled the piece of metal out of his mouth with a fat hand, its skin straining like a full water balloon.
“You think I'm fucking stupid?”
I stared at him, unmoved by his question.
“I'm not leaving you alone with my equipment so I can be on the hook for whatever shit you wanna download.”
“Listen —”
“No, you listen. Take your money and go look at your sick shit somewhere else.”
I had had enough of the fat man. It may have been sitting with Paolo and taking his threats, or the stunt Johnny pulled on the island. Whatever it was, I was tired of assholes. I walked around the counter towards the fat man and his headband. As I got closer, his magnified eye twitched faster and faster. Finally, he put his hand up to his face and lifted the monacle. His fat hand obscured his vision for a second, hiding my rising palm. I gripped his nose and squeezed. Immediately his eyes watered and his huge paws enveloped mine. The fact that he worked with his hands all day made his grip on my hand like a bear trap. I didn't mind losing my hold on his nose; I let go so I could get my left hand on his Adam's apple.
My fingers dug deep into his fleshy neck, finding the small cartilage box in his throat. His voice involuntarily squeaked, and his huge hands rushed to mine again. His grip was powerful, but mine was better, and this time I had no interest in letting go. All the time spent on the fishing boat made my grip like a pit bull's jaws. The fat man's hands slid came away empty as he pawed at his neck. His hands continued to work at my fist, but they slackened when I applied pressure. The fragile cartilage in his neck bent under the strain, and his throat closed, sending the fat man to his knees. The immense pain was nothing compared to the lack of oxygen. His enormous body required a vast amount of air to stay vertical; I imagined it was supplied in huge gasping breaths twenty-four hours a day. Cutting off the air was a viscous shock to his already weak system.
As his face reddened, I leaned in close. “I'm no pervert, I just need to use the Internet for five minutes. You can stay in the room with me if you don't believe me.”
I let
A voice came out from behind a counter piled up with old computer keyboards and monitors. “Hep you?”
“What?” I said as I approached the counter.
“Ken I hep you?”
I saw a man hunched over a desk; he wore a headband that held a magnifying lens in front of his face. The desk light in front of him beamed an impossibly bright light down on the soldering iron in his right hand. He was a heavy man in the way that refrigerators were heavy. The back of his neck had a roll of fat that bulged out as though it were going to burst. His plaid shirt was a vast tight expanse over his back, stretching the pattern into something that resembled a magic eye poster. He sat on a stool with his legs spread wide apart. I imagined his almost-splits was only possible because it was necessary — he had to have a place for his stomach to rest while he was off his feet. His garbled speech was because of a piece of metal he was holding between his pursed lips.
“I need to use the Internet,” I said.
The man barely turned. “Don't do dat here, I dust fix compuders.”
“You have to have Internet access here. I just need it for a few minutes.”
“Go find an Internet café.”
“Twenty bucks for five minutes.”
He turned all the way around so I could see his face. His goatee pushed itself out of the heavy fat folds in his face. One of his eyes was huge in the magnifying lens. He pulled the piece of metal out of his mouth with a fat hand, its skin straining like a full water balloon.
“You think I'm fucking stupid?”
I stared at him, unmoved by his question.
“I'm not leaving you alone with my equipment so I can be on the hook for whatever shit you wanna download.”
“Listen —”
“No, you listen. Take your money and go look at your sick shit somewhere else.”
I had had enough of the fat man. It may have been sitting with Paolo and taking his threats, or the stunt Johnny pulled on the island. Whatever it was, I was tired of assholes. I walked around the counter towards the fat man and his headband. As I got closer, his magnified eye twitched faster and faster. Finally, he put his hand up to his face and lifted the monacle. His fat hand obscured his vision for a second, hiding my rising palm. I gripped his nose and squeezed. Immediately his eyes watered and his huge paws enveloped mine. The fact that he worked with his hands all day made his grip on my hand like a bear trap. I didn't mind losing my hold on his nose; I let go so I could get my left hand on his Adam's apple.
My fingers dug deep into his fleshy neck, finding the small cartilage box in his throat. His voice involuntarily squeaked, and his huge hands rushed to mine again. His grip was powerful, but mine was better, and this time I had no interest in letting go. All the time spent on the fishing boat made my grip like a pit bull's jaws. The fat man's hands slid came away empty as he pawed at his neck. His hands continued to work at my fist, but they slackened when I applied pressure. The fragile cartilage in his neck bent under the strain, and his throat closed, sending the fat man to his knees. The immense pain was nothing compared to the lack of oxygen. His enormous body required a vast amount of air to stay vertical; I imagined it was supplied in huge gasping breaths twenty-four hours a day. Cutting off the air was a viscous shock to his already weak system.
As his face reddened, I leaned in close. “I'm no pervert, I just need to use the Internet for five minutes. You can stay in the room with me if you don't believe me.”
I let
Similar Books
