Read Online Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) by Gord Rollo, Gene O'Neill, Everette Bell - Free Book Online Page B
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is true. The gold is there. I swear it is! I apologize for the charade, but we needed your help. We’re desperate, Mr. Carson. Name your price… Okay? Just please don’t leave.”
This was more like it. Carson still didn’t like the hit, but he was far too greedy to pass up a chance like this.
“All right Stein… you got yourself a killer, but I want more than twenty grand. I want a hundred, and not a god-damned nickel less, you hear me?”
“Done” Stein said without hesitation, an obvious look of relief on his face. “Same terms. You get fifty-thousand now… fifty later.” He quickly counted out five thick stacks of cash and placed the money into Carson’s hands before he changed his mind. “Any questions?”
“Yeah, when do you want this done?”
Stein and Bishop huddled together for a moment, then Bishop asked, “What are your plans for tomorrow, man?”
***
Carson was walking three paces behind Stein and Bishop on the narrow wooded trail, when they came to a sudden stop. The trail ahead continued on, and as far as Carson could tell, nothing was impeding their way.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“This is as far as we go, man,” Bishop whispered, the tension and nervousness in his voice almost palatable. “For some reason, the son of a bitch draws the line right here. We can party all day here where we’re standing, but step past that big boulder ahead there… you’re freakin’ monster meat.”
“Would you stop that?” Stein glared at his partner. “You know perfectly well it’s a man we’re dealing with here.”
Carson wished they would both shut up. They weren’t exactly building his confidence with all their crazy talk. How had he managed to get himself into this mess, anyway? More importantly, how was he going to get himself out?
A full week had passed since their meeting. Stein and Bishop had been all gung-ho to race down here the very next day but Carson had balked. It was his ass on the line, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he was good and ready. In this case, ready meant getting his hands on some very serious firepower. He’d be damned if he were going to play one on one with some backwoods maniac without being prepared. It had been difficult getting his hands on an untraceable Magnum 44 handgun and a Heckler and Koch HK-51 machine gun on such short notice, difficult but not impossible. When Carson had said he wanted serious firepower, he’d meant it.
Stein and Bishop had picked him up in a nondescript Plymouth Voyager mini-van. They had taken the Eisenhower Expressway out of the city, then caught the I-55 southwest towards the state line. They had travelled some two hundred and sixty miles in four hours, before pulling to a stop at a dilapidated farmhouse on the outskirts of the town of Alton, Illinois. Carson’s had felt quite good on the drive down, but now that it was time to earn his money, his confidence was wilting rapidly as the sun slowly began to set.
“I’ve got more guns back in the van,” Carson stalled. “Why don’t you both come with me? The three of us stand a better chance of taking this guy out, than me on my own.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Carson,” Stein answered, rapidly shaking his head. “This is your line of expertise… not ours. We’re going to stay right here.”
Bishop, turning white as a ghost at the mere mention of going into the cave, for once never even responded. Like it or not, Carson was on his own.
“Tell me again what happened to Jack Clinton?” he asked Stein, while rechecking his machine gun and ammunition clips.
“We’re not really sure. All the other men who went in, we found deposited right back here. This is the spot where we took all of those ghastly pictures. Mr. Clinton entered the cave two weeks ago and there’s been no sign of him since. There’s a chance he’s still alive, but it’s not very likely.”
“What does this guy want, anyway? Have you been in contact with him at
This was more like it. Carson still didn’t like the hit, but he was far too greedy to pass up a chance like this.
“All right Stein… you got yourself a killer, but I want more than twenty grand. I want a hundred, and not a god-damned nickel less, you hear me?”
“Done” Stein said without hesitation, an obvious look of relief on his face. “Same terms. You get fifty-thousand now… fifty later.” He quickly counted out five thick stacks of cash and placed the money into Carson’s hands before he changed his mind. “Any questions?”
“Yeah, when do you want this done?”
Stein and Bishop huddled together for a moment, then Bishop asked, “What are your plans for tomorrow, man?”
***
Carson was walking three paces behind Stein and Bishop on the narrow wooded trail, when they came to a sudden stop. The trail ahead continued on, and as far as Carson could tell, nothing was impeding their way.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“This is as far as we go, man,” Bishop whispered, the tension and nervousness in his voice almost palatable. “For some reason, the son of a bitch draws the line right here. We can party all day here where we’re standing, but step past that big boulder ahead there… you’re freakin’ monster meat.”
“Would you stop that?” Stein glared at his partner. “You know perfectly well it’s a man we’re dealing with here.”
Carson wished they would both shut up. They weren’t exactly building his confidence with all their crazy talk. How had he managed to get himself into this mess, anyway? More importantly, how was he going to get himself out?
A full week had passed since their meeting. Stein and Bishop had been all gung-ho to race down here the very next day but Carson had balked. It was his ass on the line, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he was good and ready. In this case, ready meant getting his hands on some very serious firepower. He’d be damned if he were going to play one on one with some backwoods maniac without being prepared. It had been difficult getting his hands on an untraceable Magnum 44 handgun and a Heckler and Koch HK-51 machine gun on such short notice, difficult but not impossible. When Carson had said he wanted serious firepower, he’d meant it.
Stein and Bishop had picked him up in a nondescript Plymouth Voyager mini-van. They had taken the Eisenhower Expressway out of the city, then caught the I-55 southwest towards the state line. They had travelled some two hundred and sixty miles in four hours, before pulling to a stop at a dilapidated farmhouse on the outskirts of the town of Alton, Illinois. Carson’s had felt quite good on the drive down, but now that it was time to earn his money, his confidence was wilting rapidly as the sun slowly began to set.
“I’ve got more guns back in the van,” Carson stalled. “Why don’t you both come with me? The three of us stand a better chance of taking this guy out, than me on my own.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Carson,” Stein answered, rapidly shaking his head. “This is your line of expertise… not ours. We’re going to stay right here.”
Bishop, turning white as a ghost at the mere mention of going into the cave, for once never even responded. Like it or not, Carson was on his own.
“Tell me again what happened to Jack Clinton?” he asked Stein, while rechecking his machine gun and ammunition clips.
“We’re not really sure. All the other men who went in, we found deposited right back here. This is the spot where we took all of those ghastly pictures. Mr. Clinton entered the cave two weeks ago and there’s been no sign of him since. There’s a chance he’s still alive, but it’s not very likely.”
“What does this guy want, anyway? Have you been in contact with him at
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