Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
She gives me another of those tiny nods before settling in. I close one of the closet doors, leaving the other one slightly ajar. Before I leave, I make a sweep of the apartment, cleaning up all signs that we were here—just in case there’s a surprise showing. I doubt there will be. This place hasn’t had any takers for a while. She should be safe.
* * *
It takes me twenty minutes to get over to Marjory’s Cafe where Beefer is. He’s sitting in a back booth with a girl who doesn’t look much older than me tucked under his arm. Her hands are under the table and Beefer’s face is flushed red. Could be the booze but could be the girl’s hands on his dick. Could be both.
“Hey there, Monkey. You did good.” He slides a few bills across the table with one hand. The other is busy under the girl’s halter, fondling her tit. Close up, I now see that the girl is a little older, wearing a fuckton of makeup to disguise the marks of her drug use.
I count out the twenties. There are five of them. I stuff the bills in my back pocket. Not much money, but I didn’t do much work either. Just standing around watching and then planting the listening device. That said, there’s no way I’m supporting myself, the girl, and putting any green away for the future doing these small jobs. Complaining about how much he’s paying me won’t get me a raise. He’ll slap me across my face and then withhold work until I come crawling back.
He did that to a kid a month ago.
“How do I make more?”
“More what?” He pauses his fondling.
“More money.”
“A hundred isn’t good enough for you?” He pinches the girl’s nipple. “You keep working,” he tells her before turning his attention back to me. “I’ll have another job for you. Come back next week.”
I pretend to think it over. “Okay. Maybe Rod has work.”
Beefer sits upright, jolting the girl next to him. “You’re my kid,” he protests. Rod is Stinky Steve’s idiot cousin. The guy couldn’t hit a target five feet in front of him, bolted to the floor. Still, Beefer worries that Rod’s going to be promoted and then it’ll be Rod in this booth at Marjory’s getting hand jobs from drug-addled girls too young to know better.
I remain silent. Better to look disinterested. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl lean over the table and take a snort. I hadn’t even seen the drugs when I walked in.
With an internal sigh, I realize I could deal. There are kids my age that are trafficking in pills and meth. The turnover rate is high. In the past, it seemed like a good way to get shivved in some back alley, but I’m bigger now and the product doesn’t tempt me. I know it’s good money.
“You.” He taps the girl on the shoulder. “Get gone.”
She swoops down for another snort and then hustles off. I keep standing.
Beefer waves a hand at the left-over drugs. “Want some?”
“No thanks.”
“Good kid. Keeping your nose clean is half the battle.” He laughs a little at his own joke. He jerks his head toward the seat opposite him. “Sit down.”
I do as I’m told.
“How old are you?”
I try to recall whether I told him how old I was before. I don’t think I did. Still, best to hedge here. “Old enough.”
He snorts. “That’s a politician’s answer. I’m guessing you aren’t more than twelve because you don’t sound like your balls have dropped yet, but Christ, you’re big for your age.”
I remain silent.
“Fine. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.” He motions for me to lean in which I do. “Here’s the deal. We listened to the cop, and the boss doesn’t like what he heard. He wants the cop gone. You get rid of him and I’ll pay you five large.”
My heart thumps madly and I’m glad my shaking hands are on my lap under the table where Beefer can’t see them. As coolly as possible, I say, “Is the boss hurting for money?”
“No. Fuck no,” Beefer exclaims. “We’re the biggest operation on this coast. We’re rolling in it.”
Then why the fuck are you offering me five Gs? Of course, I don’t hit him with that. Instead, I go for the ego again. “I heard the Tong gang pays a half million for one hit.”
“A half mil—” He cuts himself off. “Look, kid, you want this job, the most I can pay is fifteen.”
Fifteen thousand? I dig my nails into my palms to keep the surprise off my face. “I guess. If that’s all the boss can afford. How should it be done?” I ask, as if I’ve done this a thousand times before.