Read Online Witness To Kill (Change Of Life Book 1) by Kent Keefer - Free Book Online
Authors: Kent Keefer
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of ‘em’s
true believers, comes to drugs. They use tactics we wouldn’ta even thought of
few years back. Sometimes I wonder how they look at they’selves in the mirror. True
believers, ” he muttered again, then drew a resigned breath. “I guess I
ain’t arguin’ with mosta that ‘cept for the self-righteous bastards . . .
Ruggle’s a good example of ‘em. . . they inflict on what they call us locals .
We used to get some respect and cooperation from ‘em. Nowadays . . . hell, they
treat us like the enemy, like we’re the bad guys. They don’t take the
time to look around and figger out how things work, you know?”
He stopped talking as a waiter leaned in to pour, the pot
steadied with a folded white cloth. The rest of Mary’s biscuit sat untouched.
“Thing is,” he continued as the waiter left, “‘ith all these
penalties and all this heat they . . . feds that is . . . they really put the squeeze on whoever they bring in on charges connected to drugs. They
got laws on what they call conspiracy I don’t even understand. Looks
like they can convict jest on somebody’s say-so ‘thout no real evidence, like
this is the way Russia used to be or somethin’. Hell, everbody talks
these days . . . ain’t no honor among thieves anymore.”
He smiled but she didn’t join in, then the smile fell and he
lowered his voice. “Everbody, that is, least the way I hear it . . . everbody .
. . ‘cept these Cubans.”
He was looking at her levelly, his face and voice were
locked together in a gravity so heavy it felt like a threat.
“From what I hear these Cubans are a different breed . .
.more like the old mafia, the real mafia. You know, family and
all that. Well, they don’t fuck around. Excuse me for talkin’ like that but
they don’t . . .they don’t talk and they won’t cooperate. What they’ll do is do
whatever it takes to protect any of their own that get caught . . . like them
boys killed your friend, whenever we catch ‘em. They’ll do anything, anything to protect ‘em . . . part of their creed or somethin’. Guess that’s how they
keep their people in line. Them Cubans s’posed to be ruthless and unbending,
jest like them fed boys . . . like Ruggle and that kid, tryin’ to ‘stablish
their careers . Long’s you stick to bein’ able to identify them men, you the
one in the worst spot. You gotta know that. You the one’s caught ‘tween a rock
and a hard place.”
He sat back and picked up his cup and took a sip, caught her
eyes again and nodded earnestly back toward Ursuline.
“Both you and that boy.”
She tried to read his face as scattered applause followed
the robot marching off, the tips can teetered from an arm extended 90 degrees
in front.
“You think they’ll make me say those men killed Luis?” she
asked. “Identify them in court?”
He pressed his lips together and nodded, then tilted his
head gloomily. “Yeah. To be honest with you, Hon, I think there’s a good
chancea that. Long’s they got somebody willin’ to finger ‘em, they ain’t got
much choice, do they?”
The steel-rimmed wheels of a wagon brimming with a
gesturing, camera-aiming Asian family clattered past, its teamster a hunched
black man in red livery, it was being pulled behind a hunched brown hackney in
matching trim, a tattered red plume preceded its bored equine face.
“Neither do you,” Sherry murmured. “It’s jest damned back
luck. Way things stand now, nobody’s got much choice here. You stuck in the
middle.” The one eye blinked a couple of times. “Like I said, you and Brian.”
His eyes went to the sky over the levee. “Truth of it is, way things are . . . nobody’s got much choice in this thing.”
Their talk turned less serious. They smiled at each other
and traded polite comments, but they had gone to different worlds. As they
stood to leave, he tossed a crumpled bill on the table and reached over and
popped the last crust into
true believers, comes to drugs. They use tactics we wouldn’ta even thought of
few years back. Sometimes I wonder how they look at they’selves in the mirror. True
believers, ” he muttered again, then drew a resigned breath. “I guess I
ain’t arguin’ with mosta that ‘cept for the self-righteous bastards . . .
Ruggle’s a good example of ‘em. . . they inflict on what they call us locals .
We used to get some respect and cooperation from ‘em. Nowadays . . . hell, they
treat us like the enemy, like we’re the bad guys. They don’t take the
time to look around and figger out how things work, you know?”
He stopped talking as a waiter leaned in to pour, the pot
steadied with a folded white cloth. The rest of Mary’s biscuit sat untouched.
“Thing is,” he continued as the waiter left, “‘ith all these
penalties and all this heat they . . . feds that is . . . they really put the squeeze on whoever they bring in on charges connected to drugs. They
got laws on what they call conspiracy I don’t even understand. Looks
like they can convict jest on somebody’s say-so ‘thout no real evidence, like
this is the way Russia used to be or somethin’. Hell, everbody talks
these days . . . ain’t no honor among thieves anymore.”
He smiled but she didn’t join in, then the smile fell and he
lowered his voice. “Everbody, that is, least the way I hear it . . . everbody .
. . ‘cept these Cubans.”
He was looking at her levelly, his face and voice were
locked together in a gravity so heavy it felt like a threat.
“From what I hear these Cubans are a different breed . .
.more like the old mafia, the real mafia. You know, family and
all that. Well, they don’t fuck around. Excuse me for talkin’ like that but
they don’t . . .they don’t talk and they won’t cooperate. What they’ll do is do
whatever it takes to protect any of their own that get caught . . . like them
boys killed your friend, whenever we catch ‘em. They’ll do anything, anything to protect ‘em . . . part of their creed or somethin’. Guess that’s how they
keep their people in line. Them Cubans s’posed to be ruthless and unbending,
jest like them fed boys . . . like Ruggle and that kid, tryin’ to ‘stablish
their careers . Long’s you stick to bein’ able to identify them men, you the
one in the worst spot. You gotta know that. You the one’s caught ‘tween a rock
and a hard place.”
He sat back and picked up his cup and took a sip, caught her
eyes again and nodded earnestly back toward Ursuline.
“Both you and that boy.”
She tried to read his face as scattered applause followed
the robot marching off, the tips can teetered from an arm extended 90 degrees
in front.
“You think they’ll make me say those men killed Luis?” she
asked. “Identify them in court?”
He pressed his lips together and nodded, then tilted his
head gloomily. “Yeah. To be honest with you, Hon, I think there’s a good
chancea that. Long’s they got somebody willin’ to finger ‘em, they ain’t got
much choice, do they?”
The steel-rimmed wheels of a wagon brimming with a
gesturing, camera-aiming Asian family clattered past, its teamster a hunched
black man in red livery, it was being pulled behind a hunched brown hackney in
matching trim, a tattered red plume preceded its bored equine face.
“Neither do you,” Sherry murmured. “It’s jest damned back
luck. Way things stand now, nobody’s got much choice here. You stuck in the
middle.” The one eye blinked a couple of times. “Like I said, you and Brian.”
His eyes went to the sky over the levee. “Truth of it is, way things are . . . nobody’s got much choice in this thing.”
Their talk turned less serious. They smiled at each other
and traded polite comments, but they had gone to different worlds. As they
stood to leave, he tossed a crumpled bill on the table and reached over and
popped the last crust into
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