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Book: SOUTHSIDE HUSTLE: a gripping action thriller full of suspense by LOU HOLLY
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Authors: LOU HOLLY
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couldn’t put his finger on it. It just seemed too damn easy. “Quit worrying,” he tried convincing himself. “All your problems are solved.”
In the parking lot of the condo, Trick got out of his car and looked around. He could hear the laughter and shouts from older children playing at nearby Walker Park. It was close to 9:00 pm, all would be quiet soon except for the occasional barking dog or roar of a motorcycle from Cicero Avenue. He watched an elderly couple walk past holding hands on Laramie Avenue, each with hair white as cotton. When they were far enough away, he opened his trunk, loaded the cash back into the black bag and entered the condo, feeling as though he were walking through a dream.
Trick turned the stereo on and tuned it to the Oldie station. After making sure the drapes were completely closed, he unzipped the leather satchel and dumped the cash on the living room carpet. The Bombay Sapphire that Reggie left in the freezer seemed to beckon him, so he mixed himself a strong Gin and Squirt on ice while a love song from The Skyliners carried into the kitchen. Gulping half of his drink down, he topped it off with more liquor. Trick walked back into the living room and stared at the pile of cash.
Money by Barrett Strong came on next. He cranked it up and called out, “Perfect.” He gulped some more of his cocktail, set it on the coffee table and danced wildly around the pile of banded bills, laughing and singing.
When the song was over he did a backflip, landing on the cash, and rolled around in it for several moments. He lay there with his eyes closed and caught his breath before getting up and turning the music back down. “Down to business,” he said, grabbing his drink and sitting on the floor in front of his newfound fortune. One by one, he slid a band off a stack of bills and carefully counted before replacing it back in the band. Once tallied, they were placed on the coffee table in sections of 100s, 50s and 20s.
After making another drink, he sat on the couch in front of the coffee table with pen and paper and counted his windfall over and over. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five-thousand dollars,” he said, dragging out his words. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five.”
CHAPTER 10
Trick had forgotten how it felt. He was happy. No, it was more like giddy. He turned up the radio as he drove to Ginger’s apartment. “Ain’t nothin gonna break my stride,” he sang along, “nobody’s gonna slow me down.”
Trick shut the car door behind his back and felt a spring in his step as he crossed the parking lot. Multi-colored leaves from ornamental pear trees lining the parking lot rained down as he tried to contain his excitement. After getting buzzed in, he climbed the stairs two at a time and pounded on her door.
“All right, all right.” Trick detected annoyance in Ginger’s voice as the chain unlatched. When they came face to face, she demanded, “What’s so important? You know Pat’s in kindergarten.”
“I came to see you.” Trick rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes. “Good news. Money’s not going to be a problem for us anymore.”
“Here we go again.” Ginger motioned with her hands in an exaggerated manner as though performing in a high school play. “What’s it this time? You borrowed money and invested in another oil field?”
“This isn’t some pipe dream. It’s already happened. No more risks. I’m done.” Trick pulled a Ziploc neatly stuffed with cash from the inside pocket of his brown leather bomber and held it out toward Ginger. “Here, get yourself a new car. Trade in that piece of shit you’re driving.”
Ginger took the money and asked, “How much is in here?”
“Fifteen-thou. If you want, I’ll come with you and negotiate the deal. I know how those thieves operate.”
“What did you do? You do something stupid?” Ginger tossed the money on a knick-knack shelf like it was burning her fingers. “You finally did it, didn’t you?
In the parking lot of the condo, Trick got out of his car and looked around. He could hear the laughter and shouts from older children playing at nearby Walker Park. It was close to 9:00 pm, all would be quiet soon except for the occasional barking dog or roar of a motorcycle from Cicero Avenue. He watched an elderly couple walk past holding hands on Laramie Avenue, each with hair white as cotton. When they were far enough away, he opened his trunk, loaded the cash back into the black bag and entered the condo, feeling as though he were walking through a dream.
Trick turned the stereo on and tuned it to the Oldie station. After making sure the drapes were completely closed, he unzipped the leather satchel and dumped the cash on the living room carpet. The Bombay Sapphire that Reggie left in the freezer seemed to beckon him, so he mixed himself a strong Gin and Squirt on ice while a love song from The Skyliners carried into the kitchen. Gulping half of his drink down, he topped it off with more liquor. Trick walked back into the living room and stared at the pile of cash.
Money by Barrett Strong came on next. He cranked it up and called out, “Perfect.” He gulped some more of his cocktail, set it on the coffee table and danced wildly around the pile of banded bills, laughing and singing.
When the song was over he did a backflip, landing on the cash, and rolled around in it for several moments. He lay there with his eyes closed and caught his breath before getting up and turning the music back down. “Down to business,” he said, grabbing his drink and sitting on the floor in front of his newfound fortune. One by one, he slid a band off a stack of bills and carefully counted before replacing it back in the band. Once tallied, they were placed on the coffee table in sections of 100s, 50s and 20s.
After making another drink, he sat on the couch in front of the coffee table with pen and paper and counted his windfall over and over. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five-thousand dollars,” he said, dragging out his words. “Two-hundred-and-eighty-five.”
CHAPTER 10
Trick had forgotten how it felt. He was happy. No, it was more like giddy. He turned up the radio as he drove to Ginger’s apartment. “Ain’t nothin gonna break my stride,” he sang along, “nobody’s gonna slow me down.”
Trick shut the car door behind his back and felt a spring in his step as he crossed the parking lot. Multi-colored leaves from ornamental pear trees lining the parking lot rained down as he tried to contain his excitement. After getting buzzed in, he climbed the stairs two at a time and pounded on her door.
“All right, all right.” Trick detected annoyance in Ginger’s voice as the chain unlatched. When they came face to face, she demanded, “What’s so important? You know Pat’s in kindergarten.”
“I came to see you.” Trick rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes. “Good news. Money’s not going to be a problem for us anymore.”
“Here we go again.” Ginger motioned with her hands in an exaggerated manner as though performing in a high school play. “What’s it this time? You borrowed money and invested in another oil field?”
“This isn’t some pipe dream. It’s already happened. No more risks. I’m done.” Trick pulled a Ziploc neatly stuffed with cash from the inside pocket of his brown leather bomber and held it out toward Ginger. “Here, get yourself a new car. Trade in that piece of shit you’re driving.”
Ginger took the money and asked, “How much is in here?”
“Fifteen-thou. If you want, I’ll come with you and negotiate the deal. I know how those thieves operate.”
“What did you do? You do something stupid?” Ginger tossed the money on a knick-knack shelf like it was burning her fingers. “You finally did it, didn’t you?
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