Read Online Mr. Hooligan by Ian Vasquez - Free Book Online Page A

believe we are.” Holding Riley’s gaze. “I get the feeling we are well on our way to an understanding.”
    “There are some lovely old Lindbergh photographs and engravings on the walls in there,” the minister said, examining her fingernails. “How did you come by those?”
    Riley realized he was being addressed. Returning the favor of casual indifference, he kept his eyes on Lopez. “Came with the place. Have a good day, Minister Burrows. Mr. Lopez.”
    Lopez stood up with the folder. “I expect by tomorrow morning you’ll have an answer for me? Or we could make that noontime, being the reasonable people that we are.”
    “Noon it is,” Riley said, keeping his smile, but now a pressure inside his rib cage was building.
    The minister led the way off the deck and down the steps. Lopez opened the passenger’s door for her, shut it carefully and quick-stepped around to the front. Riley stayed in his seat and watched them drive away.
    Harvey came to stand beside him, rag hanging over a shoulder. Neither of them spoke while they watched the Range Rover disappear around the bend. Then Riley said, “Let me hear it.”
    “No, I’m just thinking, that’s all.… Don’t mind me.”
    “What you thinking?”
    “Hey, just wondering, silly old me, just trying to think out of whose ass we’re gonna pluck two hundred grand. Two hundred grand, Riley. C’mon, man,” and he threw the rag at the railing.
    Riley rose and walked away, suddenly dizzy, like he’d been holding his breath. The pressure under his rib cage had surged to the back of his neck, muscles clenching. Behind the bar, half floating and heavy-headed at the same time, he snagged a plastic cup, pulled the beer handle for a swallow of Belikin draft, just a quick one, but nothing poured.
    Gert said, “It’s out, remember?”
    He said, “Yeah, yeah,” swinging around to the cooler, getting a bottle out, fumbling with it as he popped the cap, the blasted thing slipping from his grasp and hitting the floor. He groaned, beer chugging out onto the wood planks over his Nikes.
    Eventually, he got half a bottle of beer into his system and held on to the side of the cooler, looking out the window at the street, the park, the sea, while his heart thudded into his ribs. After all these years, two words could still do this to him. Manatee Road.
    Behind him, Harvey said, “You all right there, Riley?”
    “Yeah,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. “Just a little … just a little dizziness. Gimme a couple minutes and I’ll be my old self.”
    Riley had been saying that for years.

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    Riley, Harvey, and Gertrude were sitting at a table on the deck, cups of coffee at their elbows, table piled high with invoices, order forms, Quicken spreadsheets, calculator. All business here. Turo had been sent home to return at opening time. The three of them had been plugging away for the last two hours with no headway.
    Harvey rubbed an eye with the heel of his palm, and Gert, shaking her head, tossed a pen on the papers. “We can’t do it. Unless we come into an infusion of cash but otherwise…”
    Riley was the only one trying to stay positive. “Okay, look, what if—”
    “Good god, you’re not listening?”
    “I’m listening, Gert.”
    “Look here.” Gert pushing a spreadsheet forward for him to read, Riley following her finger down to a column of figures. “That’s funds available. After regular expenses, that’s all we have to work with.”
    “Twenty-eight thousand five is a start.”
    “Are you serious? They want two hundred thousand .”
    “I told you, I can start collecting on the back room, what the poker players owe me.”
    “Whoop-dee-doo. Add eight thousand more.”
    Harvey said, “We’re fucked, Riley. We need to get the money from elsewhere, a loan, something.”
    Riley saw the hint, ignored it. “What if we forego salaries for a couple, three months?”
    Gert’s tight lips crimped tighter. “We can’t do that. We have