Read Online Tampa Star (Blackfox Chronicles Book 1) by T.S. O'Neil - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T.S. O'Neil
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could barely contain himself listening to the details of what he considered to be small time hood-ism.
“That’s peanuts, bro,” said Tommy. “How would you like to do one robbery for a cool million, plus change?”
Jimmy poured himself another whiskey, adopted a cockeyed squint, an expression that Tommy remembered from their youth that meant Jimmy was seriously considering something. This could either be bad or good as Jimmy was relatively intelligent, but also had a mercurial temper—so a punch upside the head could be the item under consideration. You just never knew with Jimmy.
“It’s your dime, bro,” said Jimmy finally. “Why not tell me what you’ve been up to?”
Tommy ran it all down for him; the casino ship, Char, the gold, and the crazy Aussie behind it all. He went on to lay out the scenario, how he felt it could play out and how they intended to settle up and get out of town before the long arm of the law encircled them.
“Nice plan, but you’re going to need some more muscle to handle a hundred people,” Jimmy said finally.
“Yeah, Bro, that’s where you and your associates come in,” responded Tommy.
An hour later, after they had thoroughly discussed all the particulars, they finished the bottle and walked out together.
On entering, Tommy had admired a powder blue ‘60 Stingray parked at the corner and was surprised when his brother walked over to it as he fished the keys out of his pocket.
“That’s yours!” he exclaimed.
“Hell yeah, little brother! You didn’t think I was sitting on my hands while they had you locked up?”
They shared a fleeting masculine embrace that was more appropriate between teammates on a gridiron than long lost brothers. Jimmy climbed behind the wheel, fired up the big V-eight and peeled off from the curb. Tommy just smiled and waved goodbye. They had made plans to meet when Jimmy had everything lined up on his end.
Chapter 9 - Carla
“Carla, wait a minute, will you?” Char shouted from the door of his trailer. She had been a ghost lately and Char suspected he knew the reason, but wanted to hear it from her lips. She stopped as she was about to get in her car, looked at it and visibly slumped her shoulders—as if resigning herself to a discussion she didn’t want to have.
Char was in work clothes —having just gotten off shift and was surprised to find her car in her carport as it had been absent for over a week. He ran up to her and tried to make eye contact. She was wearing sunglasses and had a halter top with a short white skirt—a tennis outfit. Even with the sunglasses on, she avoided his stare.
“Do we have to do this now? I am late for a game,” she said finally.
“I guess I just wanted to hear it from you is all,” he said.
“Oh, come on Char, did you think what we had was going any place? But the bedroom!” she added as an afterthought.
“It could have and it still can,” he said, almost pleading, wanting to keep her from driving off. He reached for her arm, not thinking, just wanting to keep her from leaving. She avoided his grasp and opened the door of her convertible.
“Listen Char, we’ll talk when I get back, “she said as she slipped into the car and started the engine before he could even offer a response. The car was facing the street; she had backed in—no doubt in the event she needed to make a quick getaway. Fait accompli thought Char, as he wandered back to his trailer to begin drinking.
After downing five beers he started to feel better—albeit in a chemically induced way. The bastard Block had gotten to her, Char was now sure. He had been deluding himself to think she would be happy living in a trailer with a guy with a gimp leg and a pick-up truck. All that was missing was a hound dog sleeping on the front porch and his life could be a country music song.
Char headed over to the yacht brokerage to see Tommy—he sped along Gulf Boulevard like he owned the road, a
“That’s peanuts, bro,” said Tommy. “How would you like to do one robbery for a cool million, plus change?”
Jimmy poured himself another whiskey, adopted a cockeyed squint, an expression that Tommy remembered from their youth that meant Jimmy was seriously considering something. This could either be bad or good as Jimmy was relatively intelligent, but also had a mercurial temper—so a punch upside the head could be the item under consideration. You just never knew with Jimmy.
“It’s your dime, bro,” said Jimmy finally. “Why not tell me what you’ve been up to?”
Tommy ran it all down for him; the casino ship, Char, the gold, and the crazy Aussie behind it all. He went on to lay out the scenario, how he felt it could play out and how they intended to settle up and get out of town before the long arm of the law encircled them.
“Nice plan, but you’re going to need some more muscle to handle a hundred people,” Jimmy said finally.
“Yeah, Bro, that’s where you and your associates come in,” responded Tommy.
An hour later, after they had thoroughly discussed all the particulars, they finished the bottle and walked out together.
On entering, Tommy had admired a powder blue ‘60 Stingray parked at the corner and was surprised when his brother walked over to it as he fished the keys out of his pocket.
“That’s yours!” he exclaimed.
“Hell yeah, little brother! You didn’t think I was sitting on my hands while they had you locked up?”
They shared a fleeting masculine embrace that was more appropriate between teammates on a gridiron than long lost brothers. Jimmy climbed behind the wheel, fired up the big V-eight and peeled off from the curb. Tommy just smiled and waved goodbye. They had made plans to meet when Jimmy had everything lined up on his end.
Chapter 9 - Carla
“Carla, wait a minute, will you?” Char shouted from the door of his trailer. She had been a ghost lately and Char suspected he knew the reason, but wanted to hear it from her lips. She stopped as she was about to get in her car, looked at it and visibly slumped her shoulders—as if resigning herself to a discussion she didn’t want to have.
Char was in work clothes —having just gotten off shift and was surprised to find her car in her carport as it had been absent for over a week. He ran up to her and tried to make eye contact. She was wearing sunglasses and had a halter top with a short white skirt—a tennis outfit. Even with the sunglasses on, she avoided his stare.
“Do we have to do this now? I am late for a game,” she said finally.
“I guess I just wanted to hear it from you is all,” he said.
“Oh, come on Char, did you think what we had was going any place? But the bedroom!” she added as an afterthought.
“It could have and it still can,” he said, almost pleading, wanting to keep her from driving off. He reached for her arm, not thinking, just wanting to keep her from leaving. She avoided his grasp and opened the door of her convertible.
“Listen Char, we’ll talk when I get back, “she said as she slipped into the car and started the engine before he could even offer a response. The car was facing the street; she had backed in—no doubt in the event she needed to make a quick getaway. Fait accompli thought Char, as he wandered back to his trailer to begin drinking.
After downing five beers he started to feel better—albeit in a chemically induced way. The bastard Block had gotten to her, Char was now sure. He had been deluding himself to think she would be happy living in a trailer with a guy with a gimp leg and a pick-up truck. All that was missing was a hound dog sleeping on the front porch and his life could be a country music song.
Char headed over to the yacht brokerage to see Tommy—he sped along Gulf Boulevard like he owned the road, a
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