Read Online Unholy Code (A Lana Elkins Thriller) by Thomas Waite - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Thomas Waite
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Porsche’s door, as though he planned to stay longer than the few seconds it would take Vinko to jam his gun into Bones’s black face and send him packing.
The white woman climbed out the other side in a skirt shorter than an old man’s memory and tighter than a drug dealer’s fist. She looked like a supermodel, with blond hair smartly cut to an inch above her distinct collarbones. Her face had a vaguely Asian cast. No, Russian, he realized a moment later.
So Bones had landed himself a beauty. Vinko figured that was one of the perks that came when you’d started for more than a decade for the San Diego Chargers and made the NFL Pro Bowl seven of those years. His career having ended four seasons ago, Bones was a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.
“What do you want?” Vinko moved with deliberate speed toward his former tight end. Bones had lost some weight, some muscle. Vinko smiled at the man’s reduced stature. Maybe he wouldn’t shoot him. Maybe he’d just beat the shit out of him.
“I wanted to see what the white man’s white man was up to. Ludmila and I were in Coeur d’Alene, and I remembered my old QB lived within striking distance on his family’s land or compound or whatever it is. Jesus, you got more warning signs out there than a nuclear plant.”
“Which you ignored.”
“I figured you’d be glad to see me.”
Bones wasn’t serious, Vinko could tell, but that made him feel toyed with, teased in front of Bones’s girlfriend or wife, whore or hooker. Bones had teased him plenty back at Boise State, nicknaming him Stinko as soon as he’d found out the quarterback was chilly toward any shade of skin darker than a tan line. Pretty soon, the whole school had picked up on it, the moniker following him right through graduation.
“You figured wrong. Get back in your car and get the hell out of here. And take Lugnut with you.”
“I wasn’t planning on leaving her. Though she was a bit curious. You played ball with who? ”
“I could ask the same about her being with you . You’re nothing to me,” Vinko said. “She’s even less for being with you.”
Ludmila was standing by the front of the car. “You are fucking idiot,” she said in an unmistakable Russian accent. Vinko had been right about that much.
Vinko felt the Ruger pressing against the small of his back, luring him with its swift promise. He didn’t resist. He drew and pointed it right at Bones.
“You’re trespassing. I shoot people for less. You drove right past those signs. That’s a dangerous thing to do.” He stepped closer to Bones, only an inch or two shorter than himself. The ex-tight end had played at a rock-solid 220 pounds, but he looked forty shy of that now. Shirt hanging off him like a tent.
Cocaine . Of course . Vinko would have bet the ranch on it. The guy had always partied hard. So now he’d gone to drugs. Bones sure wasn’t smiling anymore. All his cockiness had vanished. Ruger magic.
Biko started sniffing Bones’s pants leg. Vinko wished he’d taught his dog to pee on command. He gave him one he did know: “Biko, heel.”
“Biko? Did you really name him after Stephen Biko?” The black South African anti-apartheid activist had become famous after being killed in police custody. He’d also been known for coining the slogan “Black is beautiful.”
“Yeah, and I got a big fat barn cat called MLK. So what of it?” Vinko was enjoying himself immensely now. He’d resented every pass he’d ever thrown Bones, and he’d fired off hundreds in the two years they’d played together. Now he stood as close to him as he once had in the team huddle. Never next to him, though. Bad enough he had to touch the same ball.
“Fair is fair,” Bones said. “I got a hamster named Stinko. Fact is I got a whole string of them because I feed them to my boa. I always say, ‘Here comes Stinko,’ and that boa, he comes alive .”
“You don’t look so good, Bones. Been sucking on a crack pipe with your bros
The white woman climbed out the other side in a skirt shorter than an old man’s memory and tighter than a drug dealer’s fist. She looked like a supermodel, with blond hair smartly cut to an inch above her distinct collarbones. Her face had a vaguely Asian cast. No, Russian, he realized a moment later.
So Bones had landed himself a beauty. Vinko figured that was one of the perks that came when you’d started for more than a decade for the San Diego Chargers and made the NFL Pro Bowl seven of those years. His career having ended four seasons ago, Bones was a shoo-in for the Hall of Fame.
“What do you want?” Vinko moved with deliberate speed toward his former tight end. Bones had lost some weight, some muscle. Vinko smiled at the man’s reduced stature. Maybe he wouldn’t shoot him. Maybe he’d just beat the shit out of him.
“I wanted to see what the white man’s white man was up to. Ludmila and I were in Coeur d’Alene, and I remembered my old QB lived within striking distance on his family’s land or compound or whatever it is. Jesus, you got more warning signs out there than a nuclear plant.”
“Which you ignored.”
“I figured you’d be glad to see me.”
Bones wasn’t serious, Vinko could tell, but that made him feel toyed with, teased in front of Bones’s girlfriend or wife, whore or hooker. Bones had teased him plenty back at Boise State, nicknaming him Stinko as soon as he’d found out the quarterback was chilly toward any shade of skin darker than a tan line. Pretty soon, the whole school had picked up on it, the moniker following him right through graduation.
“You figured wrong. Get back in your car and get the hell out of here. And take Lugnut with you.”
“I wasn’t planning on leaving her. Though she was a bit curious. You played ball with who? ”
“I could ask the same about her being with you . You’re nothing to me,” Vinko said. “She’s even less for being with you.”
Ludmila was standing by the front of the car. “You are fucking idiot,” she said in an unmistakable Russian accent. Vinko had been right about that much.
Vinko felt the Ruger pressing against the small of his back, luring him with its swift promise. He didn’t resist. He drew and pointed it right at Bones.
“You’re trespassing. I shoot people for less. You drove right past those signs. That’s a dangerous thing to do.” He stepped closer to Bones, only an inch or two shorter than himself. The ex-tight end had played at a rock-solid 220 pounds, but he looked forty shy of that now. Shirt hanging off him like a tent.
Cocaine . Of course . Vinko would have bet the ranch on it. The guy had always partied hard. So now he’d gone to drugs. Bones sure wasn’t smiling anymore. All his cockiness had vanished. Ruger magic.
Biko started sniffing Bones’s pants leg. Vinko wished he’d taught his dog to pee on command. He gave him one he did know: “Biko, heel.”
“Biko? Did you really name him after Stephen Biko?” The black South African anti-apartheid activist had become famous after being killed in police custody. He’d also been known for coining the slogan “Black is beautiful.”
“Yeah, and I got a big fat barn cat called MLK. So what of it?” Vinko was enjoying himself immensely now. He’d resented every pass he’d ever thrown Bones, and he’d fired off hundreds in the two years they’d played together. Now he stood as close to him as he once had in the team huddle. Never next to him, though. Bad enough he had to touch the same ball.
“Fair is fair,” Bones said. “I got a hamster named Stinko. Fact is I got a whole string of them because I feed them to my boa. I always say, ‘Here comes Stinko,’ and that boa, he comes alive .”
“You don’t look so good, Bones. Been sucking on a crack pipe with your bros
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