Read Online Killer Swell by Jeff Shelby - Free Book Online

asking questions of me,” he said, his smile growing wider. “Instead, you should be thinking about how to make sure I don’t fucking kill you today.”
    I knew that, but I also knew that if I bowed down to this guy, I was done forever.
    â€œI don’t always do the right thing,” I told him.
    He nodded, evidently agreeing. “I heard that. But doing the wrong thing and doing something completely loco are two different things.” He nailed me with his eyes. “And right now you are on the loco side.”
    I watched the lines around his eyes intensify.
    â€œDon’t know what to tell you,” I said.
    â€œThere are two responses for you to choose from,” he said, holding up two fingers. “Yes, I’m going to back off. Or no, I’m staying on it.” He waggled the two fingers. “Simple choice. I will let you make the decision. But you only get one chance.”
    I paused, considering where my answer might take me. I knew what the right thing to say was, the safe thing. I knew which answer would get us out of the empty room and away from Costilla. But I couldn’t get it out of my mouth.
    â€œNo,” I said. “I’m staying on it.”
    I heard Carter clear his throat.
    Costilla folded his arms across his chest. “An unfortunate decision,” he said, his eyes burning holes into me. “Ricardo will see you out. The back door.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Carter said.
    Costilla glared at him. “Too bad.” He snapped his fingers. “Ricardo.”
    Ricardo waved the gun, motioning for us to move.
    Carter finally moved his eyes from Ricardo to Costilla. “An unfortunate decision.”
    Costilla returned the stare but said nothing.
    I felt a knot form in my stomach and followed Carter toward the door. I knew Carter wouldn’t be moving unless he had a plan. Now I just needed to get inside his head and figure out what it was before we both took bullets to the back of the head.
    Ricardo got to the door and opened it with his right hand, holding the gun in his left.
    Then Ricardo’s head exploded.
    Bullets poured into the room, ricocheting off the walls like marbles in an ice cooler. I dove to the floor, Carter landing next to me. I heard some yelling in Spanish from the storefront. I rolled next to the wall and looked at Carter.
    He grinned back at me.
    I heard some more yelling in Spanish, the voices retreating from the room. The bullets finally settled down, the silence nearly louder than the violence. The stench of hot metal and smoke filled my nose and stung my eyes.
    â€œCarter?” a voice asked above us.
    â€œIt’s clear,” another voice said.
    We both sat up.
    Timmy and Jimmy Tate stood in the doorway, each holding something that looked like an AK-47.
    Jimmy nodded at me. “What’s up, Noah?”
    The Tates were identical twins. They were buddies of Carter’s. Working buddies. Psychotic buddies. Painfully thin, with pale, white skin, they both stood about five foot eight. Sad eyes and monobrows made them look like forlorn raccoons. Each sported a tight Marine crew cut of jet-black hair. Timmy wore a white bandana around his forehead. Jimmy sported a green one. Camouflage pants and a couple of black T-shirts completed their renegade ensemble.
    The only way to tell them apart was that Jimmy’s right eye was fake, the result of taking a pool cue in the face during a fight with his brother. He’d somehow obtained a glass eye that had a red stone in the middle of it, giving him the look of having stepped out of a photograph where the flash didn’t work correctly.
    That’s how I knew it was Jimmy that was talking to me.
    I looked around, scanning the room. “Where’s Costilla?”
    â€œBeat it out the door,” Timmy said. “Think I got somebody in the shoulder, though.”
    I turned back around to them. “What are you doing here?”
    They