Read Online What Happens in Reno by Mike Monson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mike Monson
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Jackson Rancheria to look for Matt. He contacted somebody named Fuckhead Roy and sent him to the Chicken Ranch.
“Now what?” Lydia said.
“Let’s just wait a while and keep monitoring that bank account,” Hunter said. He looked at Lydia. “I can think of an activity to keep you occupied in the meantime.”
Oh, god.
“Do we have to do it in front of Tanner?”
Hunter laughed.
“Don’t bullshit me, you fucking slut. I know that never stopped you before.”
“I just mean can we go into the bedroom?”
Lydia reached back and grabbed Hunter’s dick.
“And can I please give you head this time? Pretty please?”
“Darling, you can do whatever you want.”
Chapter 15
T hat day had been the best ever for Tanner.
In the afternoon, Hunter called him to the compound. Took him alone to the clubhouse and had him sit at the card table. Grabbed a pistol out of one of the cabinets and placed it in front of Tanner.
“Do you know what that is?”
Tanner studied the gun. It was a revolver, he knew that. He thought it was beautiful. Black rubber grip, shiny stainless steel, short barrel.
“Is it a Smith & Wesson snub nose?”
“No.”
“But Uncle, it says Smith and Wesson right on the short barr—”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. Look at it again. What is it?”
“A gun?”
“No, dumbass, try again.”
Tanner studied the gun. “Can I pick it up?”
“Go ahead.”
Tanner picked it up. He’d never held a gun before. He put his hand around the grip and put his index finger on the trigger. Power flowed from the gun up his arm and into his chest.
“It’s a weapon.”
“That’s right, nephew,” Hunter said. “And what is it for?”
Tanner pointed the gun across the table away from Hunter.
“To kill people.”
“That’s right. Just like your fists, your feet, a knife, a rock—that’s all it is. It’s a weapon you use to kill people. Don’t get all caught up in all the technical bullshit. Those gun nuts that go on and on about Glocks and Colts and Berettas and revolvers versus autos or whatever are full of shit. A real criminal doesn’t care about all that. All a real criminal cares about a gun is is it right for the given job? Will it kill? Sure, this is a Smith and Wesson .38 snub nose revolver. It holds five rounds. It’s easy to load, easy to reload, and easy to aim and shoot. It’s nice because it’s so easy to carry and conceal, plus it’s powerful enough to stop a man’s heart or shatter his skull. But there are all kinds of guns—big, little, weak, powerful, revolvers, automatics, whatever. Doesn’t matter, they all kill real good, believe it. All you need to do is get good enough to look at any gun and know how to get the bullets in and how to shoot the thing.”
Tanner listened. He aimed the gun.
“Get it?” Hunter said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, follow me.”
Hunter grabbed a box of bullets and loaded the pistol as he led Tanner out the door. He took him to a field about a quarter of a mile behind the clubhouse. There was a clearing and in the clearing stood a six-foot-long two-by-four stuck in the ground, upright. Hunter had Tanner stop abound ten feet from the board. He handed him the gun and pointed at the piece of wood.
“Shoot it.
Now
.”
Tanner immediately brought the gun up and shot at the four-inch-wide target, hitting it at a spot even with his own head. He had no idea how he did it, but, just like in a fist fight, his skill was effortless.
“Just as I suspected,” Hunter said. He smiled. Hugged Hunter tight. He stepped back. “Never hesitate. When the gun is in your hand and you see your enemy, just shoot the fucker. Now. No muss. No fuss. No thinking allowed.”
Hunter handed Tanner the box of bullets.
“Now,” he said, “I got somewheres I gotta be. Keep shooting until all the bullets are used up. Then, put the gun back in the clubhouse, in the same place I got it.”
“Okay, Uncle.”
“Meet me at the gym at
“Now what?” Lydia said.
“Let’s just wait a while and keep monitoring that bank account,” Hunter said. He looked at Lydia. “I can think of an activity to keep you occupied in the meantime.”
Oh, god.
“Do we have to do it in front of Tanner?”
Hunter laughed.
“Don’t bullshit me, you fucking slut. I know that never stopped you before.”
“I just mean can we go into the bedroom?”
Lydia reached back and grabbed Hunter’s dick.
“And can I please give you head this time? Pretty please?”
“Darling, you can do whatever you want.”
Chapter 15
T hat day had been the best ever for Tanner.
In the afternoon, Hunter called him to the compound. Took him alone to the clubhouse and had him sit at the card table. Grabbed a pistol out of one of the cabinets and placed it in front of Tanner.
“Do you know what that is?”
Tanner studied the gun. It was a revolver, he knew that. He thought it was beautiful. Black rubber grip, shiny stainless steel, short barrel.
“Is it a Smith & Wesson snub nose?”
“No.”
“But Uncle, it says Smith and Wesson right on the short barr—”
“That doesn’t mean shit.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No. Look at it again. What is it?”
“A gun?”
“No, dumbass, try again.”
Tanner studied the gun. “Can I pick it up?”
“Go ahead.”
Tanner picked it up. He’d never held a gun before. He put his hand around the grip and put his index finger on the trigger. Power flowed from the gun up his arm and into his chest.
“It’s a weapon.”
“That’s right, nephew,” Hunter said. “And what is it for?”
Tanner pointed the gun across the table away from Hunter.
“To kill people.”
“That’s right. Just like your fists, your feet, a knife, a rock—that’s all it is. It’s a weapon you use to kill people. Don’t get all caught up in all the technical bullshit. Those gun nuts that go on and on about Glocks and Colts and Berettas and revolvers versus autos or whatever are full of shit. A real criminal doesn’t care about all that. All a real criminal cares about a gun is is it right for the given job? Will it kill? Sure, this is a Smith and Wesson .38 snub nose revolver. It holds five rounds. It’s easy to load, easy to reload, and easy to aim and shoot. It’s nice because it’s so easy to carry and conceal, plus it’s powerful enough to stop a man’s heart or shatter his skull. But there are all kinds of guns—big, little, weak, powerful, revolvers, automatics, whatever. Doesn’t matter, they all kill real good, believe it. All you need to do is get good enough to look at any gun and know how to get the bullets in and how to shoot the thing.”
Tanner listened. He aimed the gun.
“Get it?” Hunter said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, follow me.”
Hunter grabbed a box of bullets and loaded the pistol as he led Tanner out the door. He took him to a field about a quarter of a mile behind the clubhouse. There was a clearing and in the clearing stood a six-foot-long two-by-four stuck in the ground, upright. Hunter had Tanner stop abound ten feet from the board. He handed him the gun and pointed at the piece of wood.
“Shoot it.
Now
.”
Tanner immediately brought the gun up and shot at the four-inch-wide target, hitting it at a spot even with his own head. He had no idea how he did it, but, just like in a fist fight, his skill was effortless.
“Just as I suspected,” Hunter said. He smiled. Hugged Hunter tight. He stepped back. “Never hesitate. When the gun is in your hand and you see your enemy, just shoot the fucker. Now. No muss. No fuss. No thinking allowed.”
Hunter handed Tanner the box of bullets.
“Now,” he said, “I got somewheres I gotta be. Keep shooting until all the bullets are used up. Then, put the gun back in the clubhouse, in the same place I got it.”
“Okay, Uncle.”
“Meet me at the gym at
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