Read Online Poor Boy Road (Jake Caldwell #1) by James L. Weaver, Kate Foster - Free Book Online Page B

cook arrived in a beat up, black paneled van. The cook eyed the house through the windshield and climbed out, all bones in tattered, denim shirt sleeves. The van door screeched with rust as he opened and shut it. He took off a ragged John Deere ball cap, ran his hands through stringy, russet hair and replaced the cap as he approached the porch.
    He stopped short of the steps, regarded Willie for a moment and pulled out a pack of Marlboro’s. He lit one, inhaled deeply, and walked the perimeter of the house as he smoked. Willie stayed on the porch and waited for the cook to come around the other side. It didn’t take long.
    “Place looks like a shithole,” the cook said.
    “It is. Got it cleaned up inside, though. We should be good to go.”
    The cook took one last deep drag and crushed the butt into the dirt.
    “I’m Dexter.”
    “Willie.”
    Neither man made a move for the customary handshake.
    “How many you have here now?”
    “Me and three others. They’re inside waiting.”
    “Call them out and help me get the stuff out of the van. Then, send ‘em home,” Dexter said. “Shane says you’re pretty good in the kitchen, so we won’t need ‘em yet and they’ll be in the way. You good with that?”
    “Yup.” Whatever got the money rolling in. As Dexter walked back to the van, Willie went in the house to rouse Bub, Howie and Bennett.
     
                                                            #
     
    With time to burn before his appointment with the Hospice House manager, Jake used it to cruise to Langston’s dealership, which sat on a busy corner a few miles from Hospice. Jake circled the block a few times, checking the place out, and finally parked up in front of the showroom. Polished Navigators with sparkling windshields guarded the front door.
    He got out and perused the lot, milling around trying to formulate a plan. A beanpole in a cheap suit spotted Jake and slinked over with a flash of teeth. His name tag read “Brad.”
    “Mornin’, sir. Anything you’re looking for in particular?”
    Yeah, your dickhead owner in a body bag. Can I get the bag in black or is that extra?
    “Just browsing,” Jake said, running his hand along the window of an overpriced sedan.
    “We have some great specials. Trying to clear out last year’s models.” Brad invaded Jake’s personal space and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I can make you one hell of a deal.”
    “That a fact?”
    “As sure as I’m standin’ here. Our owner’s got to make room for a new shipment. Practically giving these things away.”
    The opening Jake needed. “Your owner?” Jake asked. “Shane Langston, right?”
    Brad nodded. “That’s him. Great guy. He’s willing to…”
    “He here today?”
    “Mr. Langston? Not at the moment, but he’s authorized me to make each of our customers…”
    “Any idea when he’s coming in?”
    Brad stopped his sales pitch and took a half step back, his eyes narrowing. “Do you know Mr. Langston, sir?”
    “Just met him a coupla times around town. Told me to stop in and look him up if I was interested in a car.”
    Brad managed to revive his salesman’s smile. He didn’t buy it. “Live around here, do you?”
    “Warsaw.”
    “And where’d you meet Mr. Langston?”
    “You ask a lot of questions, Brad.”
    “It’s my job, sir,” Brad said, the smile faltering. “You know, get to know my customers. Find out what they’re really after.” Jake wanted to punch him in the nose and knock the smile the rest of the way from his face. He hated sales people.
    “Appreciate the attention, but I think I’m going to just browse around for a while. If I need anything, I’ll flag you down.”
    “Take your time…Mr.?”
    “Maxwell. James Maxwell.”
    Brad extended his hand and Jake took it, the grip weak and sweaty. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
    Jake wandered toward the south end of the lot.