Read Online Silencer by James W. Hall - Free Book Online

warbled.
    â€œWhat’d he say?”
    â€œ ‘FAF.’ That’s a new one. You know it?”
    â€œFire and forget,” Moses said. “It’s military. Refers to one of the new missiles. Damn thing’s so accurate you press the button, send it on its way, get back to your bowl of cereal. He’s telling us to do the job, stay out of his business.”
    â€œI like that. FAF.”
    The phone trilled again.
    â€œ ‘MOS,’ ” Jonah said. “Mom over shoulder. He’s got to go.”
    â€œNow he’s fucking with you. He’s not going to tell you anything.”
    Another warble and he signed off with his usual: “BEG.”
    â€œWe work for one pissed-off primate,” Jonah said. “Fucker has blood-pressure issues, needs some good Navajo flute music to calm his ass down.”
    â€œIt’s his deal, Jonah. We’re just his crew. That’s how he works.”
    â€œIt’s bullshit. Treating us like punks. We need to tell the asshole we want to see the big picture or no job.”
    â€œOh, yeah? You want to negotiate? Go in the man’s house, have a face-off? That man’s tough enough to wear pink.”
    Jonah thought about that. Picturing a showdown, Jonah muscling up close, getting into the guy’s breath. But he had to close his eyesand shake off the image because the man’s giant hands were reaching out to wrap around Jonah’s throat, lifting him off the floor.
    To clear his mind, Jonah aimed out the window, fired twice into the darkness. That fucking goliath was cold and cruel. A big evil fuck with the morals of a zombie.
    The silver phone rang again and Moses nabbed it, flipped it open, got the bid down on the pad, and snapped it shut.
    â€œOffered six-fifty for the Manson drawing,” he said. “Wants the prison envelope, too.”
    â€œWhat do we have in it?”
    â€œPaid a hundred.” Moses shook his head. “These people continually amaze me. Charlie Manson, that soda’s lost its fizz. Hippies, dopers, bunch of Hollywood bimbos. Cobwebs all over that shit.”
    â€œNo, man, you’re missing the point here. Manson is fucking Elvis. Guy never goes out of style. Those eyes, hell, nobody has eyes like that anymore. Not Dahmer, Bundy, Speck, Berkowitz, Hannibal Lechter. They’re all putzes. One look at their gummy eyes, Jesus, they’re not in Manson’s league.”
    Moses glanced over at him.
    â€œHannibal Lechter is fiction,” he said. “You know that, right? You know the difference between real people and people in movies?”
    â€œI was talking about their eyes, man. Their freaking eyes.”
    â€œYou’re still wired, aren’t you?”
    â€œMaybe a little, sure. Whacking cops, that cranks me up. Cops, all big and tough. I didn’t like that guy’s name either. Saperstein.”
    â€œYou didn’t need to empty the clip. That was excessive.”
    â€œI was making sure. Little gun like that, big FDLE man, coming on so bad.”
    â€œI worry about you, Jonah. The way you are after. Like you dig it. It lights you up.”
    â€œNo worries, man. It’s work, that’s all. I take pride in it.” Jonah looked out his window for a few seconds, then turned to his brother.“Okay, maybe there’s some afterglow. But it’s like Shaq post-game. He takes a while to come back to Earth. Hits the bars, chills with his boys, has some pussy. I’m like the Shaq of whack.”
    â€œDon’t start enjoying it. That’s all I’m saying.”
    Then Moses went silent. That’s what he did sometimes. It used to drive Jonah nuts, the way he’d pull the plug and go quiet. Now when he did it, Jonah pretended to zone out, too, like he was doing the same thing, going off into a cloud of nothingness. Except he wasn’t. It was fake. Jonah didn’t have an off button. He couldn’t do the calm thing. Hell, he