Read Online Nothing Short of Dying by Erik Storey - Free Book Online Page A

burst into flames while slowing for a speed bump in a trailer park. Ski never returned, and Jen and I thought that our troubles were over.
    That’s when Mom started seeing a man named Jimmy Paxton. And things got much, much worse.
    A CAR CRUNCHED TO A stop next to me, shaking me out of my reminiscing. It was a black Camaro—according to the writing on the side—with a big trunk and a bigger engine, made in a time when vehicles were built with steel. I put my hand in my jacket pocket, my fingers curling around the pistol, as a very muscled man unfolded himself from the car.
    He had black bushy hair and a thin mustache and wore a crisp polo shirt and jeans. Tattoos ran from his hands, up his large arms, and into the short sleeves. His boots were ostrich or something else fancy. He moved lightly for a man his size, waltzing up to me. The strong scent of cologne waltzed up with him.
    â€œHey, Chopo,” I said, taking my hand out of the coat.
    â€œ Qué pasó , Barr?” He spread his feet wide and folded hisarms, showing off his massive biceps. Chopo worked as a freelance shooter and fixer for the cartels. He had a reputation for carrying out assignments without complications, so he was usually busy on the border. “Juan called. Said you might need a hand with some punks.”
    â€œI appreciate it.”
    â€œNo problem, man, I owe you,” he said, calmly scanning left to right. I’d ridden with him down to Mexico once, a simple matter of moving his mom from her little thatched house out in the country to a bigger, brick one in the city. He wanted her closer so he could take care of her. It wasn’t dangerous work, but helping family meant a lot to Chopo.
    â€œRifle boys are coming, huh?” Chopo asked.
    I nodded, said, “They think they’re picking up a bartender from the Cellar—a woman on their shit list. I need them to lead me to their boss, a guy named the Little Dick.”
    â€œJefe?”
    â€œSame guy?”
    â€œYeah, his real name is Jeff. He just calls himself Jefe because he thinks he’s one of us bangers.”
    â€œJefe might know where the number one guy, Lance Alvis, is cooking. My sister’s with him.”
    Chopo spit on the ground. “Hell, man, everyone’s looking for Mr. Alvis. He cut off the cheap local stuff. You want my advice, I’d steer clear of him. The dude had three dealers nailed up on crosses in Albuquerque. Just like Jesus.”
    â€œDamn,” I said. This was the second indication that I might have underestimated Lance. “Well, it’s not like I’ve got choices here, you know. I’ve got to get my sister away from him. And I may not have much time.” I told Chopo the rest of my plan.
    â€œI got my end, bro,” he said. He pointed at a .50-caliberDesert Eagle wedged into his belt. Most people couldn’t hold one of those, let alone shoot it more than once with any accuracy. In Chopo’s hands, however, it looked as small as my own .40.
    Chopo noticed my interest. “Like it?” he said. “I found it on the ground.” Then he gave me that type of sinister grin that told me I really didn’t want to know where he’d found it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
    W e sat in the car and watched the park. The sun was warm and the air smelled of dry grass and Dumpster garbage. Families came and ate small lunches in the gazebo, their little kids playing in the clumpy brown grass. More mothers came and went, some walking fast and swinging flabby arms for exercise, others slowly shuffling with strollers. Ravens came and searched the sidewalks for food.
    Finally, at about six o’clock, the park cleared out. The neighborhood must have an unwritten schedule stating that toward dark, it’s gang business hours. A newly washed and waxed red Mustang slowly drove past, then swung back around and drove by us again before disappearing down the street. “Little Dick’s fetch-it boys