Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Adrenaline soaring and his mouth filling with the taste of a troubling, good time, he kept his eye on the prize. He crept around the side of the building and saw the guy looking confused—his nemesis seemingly having realized he’d briefly lost his target. Then, the man turned and made his way back across the street towards his old car. Stealthily, Roman was on him like fog rising from a fucking sewer and jammed his gun into the bastard’s back. The man gasped and stiffened, stopping dead in his tracks. Then, slowly, he raised his hands higher in the air. Roman stood behind him and whispered in his ear.
“Finish walking to your car. Go to the passenger’s side, out of view. NOW.”
The man did as he was told until he was at the passenger’s side door. Roman lodged his hand in the bastard’s jacket pocket, removed the guy’s car keys, then searched the man’s body, removing his gun. He stuck it in his back pocket for safe keeping.
“Get in!” He marched the bastard into the passenger’s seat, removed his necktie with one hand while he kept the gun on him, then tied his wrists behind his back. Once they were cinched good and tight, Roman jumped in the driver’s seat and hightailed it, until he found a suitable spot: a dark alley between two office buildings. He slammed the sedan into park, turned the engine off, walked over to the passenger’s door, yanking the man out and marched him to the front of the car.
“I know that the old man sent you. Who are you?”
“What? I’m waiting for carryout from—”
“CUT. THE. SHIT. What is your fucking name?”
“Fred.”
“Fred Flintstone, Freddy Krueger, Fred WHAT?!”
“…Fred Davis.”
“So, Grandpa is not usin’ family this time for his little tryst, huh? Must’ve learned his lesson after going after Lennox like that, and it backfired.”
“OWWWW!” the man hollered. He’d tried to headbutt the gun out of Roman’s grasp.
“Do that again, and you’ll have no skull. I’ll shoot that pea brain of yours clean out, let the rats gnaw on it. Your new name will be ‘No-Head Dead Fred.’ Now you keep fuckin’ around, and you’re gonna find out!” Roman wrapped the collar of the fucker’s jacket around his fingers and slammed him hard into the vehicle hood. The man groaned, and his complexion deepened with pain.
“You have no fucking idea what trouble you’re in. I could kill you in two seconds. But first, let’s have a lil’ conference call. Just the three of us. CALL HIM. FaceTime…”
Roman placed Fred’s phone that he’d confiscated during the search, onto the hood of the car. Right next to the dent where his cranium had crashed.
Fred looked at Roman from the corner of his eye, then, as he instructed, the idiot phoned dear ol’ Granddad via Siri. On the third ring, they were in business.
“Nice to see you, Grandpa!” Roman smiled big and wide as the FaceTime camera captured him and his new friend in the frame. Grandpa was standing in his study, wearing a white robe with matching fur trim, and listening to what sounded like ‘At Last,’ by Etta James. The old man ran his big claw down the side of his face, caressing a faded scar, then cloaked his concerns with a wretched grin.
“My grandson… what a delight to see you, Roman. I hope you had a nice dinner tonight.”
“And I hope you choke on a pair of pig balls. Bon Appetit. Looky here, you raggedy sack of shit. Keep your dog off me. Stay the fuck out of my way, out of my business, and out of my life. First the jail shit, now this. This weasel is going to deep throat some metal.” Grandpa’s face twisted as he watched Roman shove the nuzzle of his weapon into Fred’s mouth. Fred moaned, trying to press his weight against Roman to break free, but it was no use. “Keep squirmin’ like some gotdamn worm on a hook doing that damn TikTok Swagg Bounce, and it’ll be the last dance move you do, Fred Astaire,” Roman stated between gritted teeth.
Grandpa coolly looked on, then insouciantly lit a cigar.
“Roman, settle down, little black sheep. Stole anything lately?” he snickered.
“Yeah. Your will to live if you keep trying these little stunts. I know Fred’s full name, and I have his address. With that, I can find out everything about him, down to the last time he took a shit.” Fred’s eyes widened in astonishment when Roman waved the jerk’s wallet about. “That’s right. You thought you’d hid it well. Once a thief, always a thief as far as the education and the lessons learned.” The wallet had been in Fred’s sock. “I could lift a hair off an ant’s ass without it noticing.” Roman slipped the wallet into his jacket, then slowly ejected the gun from Fred’s mouth. The man immediately began spitting, sputtering, and damn near vomiting. “Oh, settle down! You act like you’ve never sucked on somethin’ long and hard before. That’s nuts! Relax.” Roman laughed, then snatched the phone back up. Grandpa had hung up.