Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Brian tapped him on his shoulder to get his attention. When Ford pried his eyes away from Dana’s back and looked at his brother, he signed to him quickly. “It’s because you love him. It’s why you feel antsy. Restless. Dana’s got this. I need your head with me, Ford.”
His brother was right. Ford didn’t deny a single word. Dana was his partner when doing surveillance and intel. But on the streets, Duke and Quick were fast to put Dana’s superior marksmanship to use as their sniper and pair Brian and Ford together. Dana was a crack shot. He’d saved Duke’s life more than once. Saved Brian’s, too. Dana’s eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s and he didn’t miss his mark. But Ford needed him safe with him. Damn, he had to somehow get past this. He couldn’t work this way.
“Come on, bro.” Brian got out the truck, popping his back as he straightened his huge body. He pulled his mugshot of John Grossman from his back pocket and put it in the inside, front pocket of his thigh-length coat. Brian couldn’t ask questions on the streets, but showing bounties’ pictures had gotten him a few leads in the past. Or maybe it was his look that got him results.
Ford walked out from behind a building a couple minutes after Brian. When his brother was on the other side of the four-lane parkway, Ford began to walk up the street, his eyes taking in everything as he did. Everyone was a suspect to him. Any one of these innocent-looking people could be on Grossman’s payroll. Ford trusted no one. Not the old lady pushing her cart of god-knows-what up the cracked sidewalk. Not the mechanic putting a new tire on a late model Corolla in the bay of his small shop. Not even the homeless man sitting on the ground outside the Crazy Cutz. Maybe the guy was hoping to panhandle enough money to cut off the matted mop on top of his head. Ford approached him, money already in hand.
“God bless you, brother.” The man said thankfully, with a decayed smile, when he saw Ford holding out the money.
“How long you been out here?” Ford asked, pushing several dollars into the man’s filthy hand.
The guy had the audacity to count the bills before he answered. “Seven years.”
Ford refrained from cursing, but barely. “You seen a black Infinity cruising through here today?”
“Maybe… maybe not.” The guy said, looking at the bills now like they suddenly weren’t enough.
Ford snarled and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Your sign says Will Work for Cash.” Ford slammed the money in the cup so hard he knocked from the man’s hand. “Fuckin’ work! Do something good for this neighborhood. Have you seen this man?!” Ford’s voice was thunderous. He pulled out his own copy of Grossman’s mugshot and held it right in front of the conman’s face.
“Okay, okay.” The guy reared back and looked at the photo. It took barely two seconds. He tucked his money in the front of his grimy pants, which may have been khakis at one point in time, looked up at Ford and grinned evilly. “Nope. Have no clue who John is. No trucks, either. Matter of fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a black SUV in my life.” The man sniggered.
Ford’s patience broke. He grabbed the man by the collar, which quickly ripped under his assault, and shoved him hard against the cement wall. He would’ve taken his money back, but there was no way his hand was going down the front of that man’s shorts. Ford was usually more collected, but this guy picked the wrong day to toy with him. Ford bared his teeth, sneering. “You piece of shit. Where is he? Where’s Grossman?”
“Hey! Hey, let him go!” A guy came out the barber shop with a long black stick in his hand, one that looked similar to a police baton, but without the handle. Three more men came out of the barber shop behind him, two black and the other biracial, or maybe Hispanic. They all wore blue and black work smocks except for the light-skinned one.
“Maybe you should pick on someone your own size, man.” One of the young barbers barked. He was more muscular than the others, but still not as big as Ford. The man had large fists, balls of steel, he even had the heart to defend a homeless man. But none of those things was enough to stop Ford.
Ford dropped the homeless man and let him scamper off. Still reeling, he turned to face his newest problem. He pulled out his bounty hunter’s star and flashed his identification.
“That means shit to us. It’s not a police badge, so why don’t you get the hell out of here.” Baton Holder was moving closer with Balls of Steel, but Ford wasn’t backing up. A stick… really. If a grenade didn’t scare Ford, a goddamn baton sure wouldn’t. “Leave, man.”