Read Online Skeleton Justice by Michael Baden, Linda Kenney Baden - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Baden, Linda Kenney Baden
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directed his comments to the food, not the man carrying it. “Guy in the city said Boo Hravek might be right for the job. Know where I can find him?”
The bartender stared at him for a long moment without responding. Then he moved away, methodically wiping the already-clean bar as he went. When he got halfway down its length, he said, “What kind of work?”
“The kind of work he’s good at.”
“Who’d you say sent you?”
“I didn’t.”
The man nursing his beer suddenly roused himself. “Boo don’t work for just anyone.”
“I know.” Sam dunked his french fry in catsup and held it suspended over his plate. “That’s why I want him.” He watched the two men exchange a glance. Apparently, he’d given a good response. He pressed his luck a little further. “There’s good money in it.” He didn’t want to name a price, since he didn’t know what Boo customarily received for doing whatever dirty deeds he specialized in.
“Boo’ll be here in a little while. Sit tight.” The bartender disappeared into the kitchen.
Sam returned to the mound of food before him. Not too bad, really—the cod was flaky and fresh, and that carefully aged grease gave it a nice tang. He ate and drank and watched drag racing on ESPN, waiting for Boo. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon. This working for Manny wasn’t too bad.
Ten minutes later, the door of the bar flew open and crashed against the wall. Two men—very big men—stood outlined by the bright sunlight at their backs. The bartender and the other patron vaporized.
Boo had arrived.
Carefully, Sam wiped his hands and his mouth and placed the napkin on the bar. He did not like to meet new people with grease on his fingers or catsup on his lip. Standing down from the bar stool, he nodded to the punks who had entered. “Sam Rosen.”
The larger of the two men, early twenties but already toting a big beer belly, stepped forward and shoved Sam against the bar. “Last night, you were messin’ with Deanie. What the fuck’s up with that? What kinda bullshit you tryin’ to pull?”
Deanie? Had that been the name of his informant at Club Epoch? Sam thought she’d been referring to herself as Teeny, which, given the size of her boobs, he’d assumed was a nickname bestowed upon her ironically. Good to have that clarified.
Ignoring the man who had pushed him, Sam stepped away from the bar and faced his companion. From the description of Boo Hravek provided by Travis via Manny, he was pretty sure that the quieter guy was the man himself and the other one was just along for some fun—fun that Sam hoped could be avoided.
Unlike the blockhead bodyguard, Boo Hravek had a gleam of intelligence in his eye as well as a set of pectorals that any man would envy. He was Sam’s height, but a good fifty pounds of solid muscle heavier. Sam extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Boo. Deanie speaks very highly of you.”
“The bitch should learn to keep her mouth shut,” the bodyguard said. Boo remained silent but took Sam’s hand and crushed it in his grip.
Sam smiled, ignoring the pain shooting up his right arm. He watched as Boo relaxed, having established his alpha male status. It was important to Sam that his opponents not feel threatened by him. He wanted them cocksure and careless.
If he’d thought he and Boo could have their conversation in a civilized manner, Sam certainly would have pursued that route. But Boo had seen fit to bring the goon with him, and Sam could tell that rational discussion was out of the question in that quarter. So the only alternative was to neutralize the bodyguard and bring Boo into a position where he valued the opportunity to talk. It was doable—not easy, but doable.
“Have a seat.” Sam gestured Boo toward the bar’s empty tables and chairs as if he owned the place. When he saw Boo start to lower himself, Sam turned toward the goon and, without a blink of warning, rammed his head directly into the big man’s soft
The bartender stared at him for a long moment without responding. Then he moved away, methodically wiping the already-clean bar as he went. When he got halfway down its length, he said, “What kind of work?”
“The kind of work he’s good at.”
“Who’d you say sent you?”
“I didn’t.”
The man nursing his beer suddenly roused himself. “Boo don’t work for just anyone.”
“I know.” Sam dunked his french fry in catsup and held it suspended over his plate. “That’s why I want him.” He watched the two men exchange a glance. Apparently, he’d given a good response. He pressed his luck a little further. “There’s good money in it.” He didn’t want to name a price, since he didn’t know what Boo customarily received for doing whatever dirty deeds he specialized in.
“Boo’ll be here in a little while. Sit tight.” The bartender disappeared into the kitchen.
Sam returned to the mound of food before him. Not too bad, really—the cod was flaky and fresh, and that carefully aged grease gave it a nice tang. He ate and drank and watched drag racing on ESPN, waiting for Boo. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon. This working for Manny wasn’t too bad.
Ten minutes later, the door of the bar flew open and crashed against the wall. Two men—very big men—stood outlined by the bright sunlight at their backs. The bartender and the other patron vaporized.
Boo had arrived.
Carefully, Sam wiped his hands and his mouth and placed the napkin on the bar. He did not like to meet new people with grease on his fingers or catsup on his lip. Standing down from the bar stool, he nodded to the punks who had entered. “Sam Rosen.”
The larger of the two men, early twenties but already toting a big beer belly, stepped forward and shoved Sam against the bar. “Last night, you were messin’ with Deanie. What the fuck’s up with that? What kinda bullshit you tryin’ to pull?”
Deanie? Had that been the name of his informant at Club Epoch? Sam thought she’d been referring to herself as Teeny, which, given the size of her boobs, he’d assumed was a nickname bestowed upon her ironically. Good to have that clarified.
Ignoring the man who had pushed him, Sam stepped away from the bar and faced his companion. From the description of Boo Hravek provided by Travis via Manny, he was pretty sure that the quieter guy was the man himself and the other one was just along for some fun—fun that Sam hoped could be avoided.
Unlike the blockhead bodyguard, Boo Hravek had a gleam of intelligence in his eye as well as a set of pectorals that any man would envy. He was Sam’s height, but a good fifty pounds of solid muscle heavier. Sam extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Boo. Deanie speaks very highly of you.”
“The bitch should learn to keep her mouth shut,” the bodyguard said. Boo remained silent but took Sam’s hand and crushed it in his grip.
Sam smiled, ignoring the pain shooting up his right arm. He watched as Boo relaxed, having established his alpha male status. It was important to Sam that his opponents not feel threatened by him. He wanted them cocksure and careless.
If he’d thought he and Boo could have their conversation in a civilized manner, Sam certainly would have pursued that route. But Boo had seen fit to bring the goon with him, and Sam could tell that rational discussion was out of the question in that quarter. So the only alternative was to neutralize the bodyguard and bring Boo into a position where he valued the opportunity to talk. It was doable—not easy, but doable.
“Have a seat.” Sam gestured Boo toward the bar’s empty tables and chairs as if he owned the place. When he saw Boo start to lower himself, Sam turned toward the goon and, without a blink of warning, rammed his head directly into the big man’s soft
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