3 Men and a Body Read Online Free PDF Page A

a
    windowless room with a rickety straight-back chair and
    some menacing-looking stains on the concrete floor. There
    was a drain in the corner—just in case the room had to be
    hosed down, he guessed.
    They slammed him into the chair and left, closing the door
    behind them.
    He concentrated on not sweating, visualized glaciers and
    avalanches and other cold scenes. Ice fishing…igloos…polar
    bears…Klondike bars.
    But when the door burst open, so did his pores. The last
    time he’d seen The Carver, the man had been inebriated
    and sitting on the john with his pants around his ankles, a
    piece of duct tape over his mouth, his wrists bound with a
    cable tie.
    He had recovered well.
    The loan shark was impeccably groomed, his skin tanned
    and glowing, his salt-and-pepper hair smoothed back from
    his face, every strand in place. Wesley didn’t know much
    about clothes, but the brown suit and col arless shirt
    looked expensive, as well as the square-toed shoes. The
    only thing that hinted the man was a gangster was the
    thick rope of gold around his neck.
    Oh, and the switchblade in his hand.
    With one click, a six-inch blade appeared. Wesley leaned
    forward and vomited the water that had been sitting in his
    stomach, splashing the man’s expensive square-toed
    shoes.
    “Christ,” the loan shark said, taking a few steps back. “Are
    you going to piss yourself next?”
    Wesley lifted his head and licked his dry lips. “I hope not.”
    “Me, too.” The Carver leaned down to get in Wesley’s
    face. “You stupid little shit, I ought to gut you for what you
    did to me.”
    “I’m sorry,” Wesley mumbled.
    He looked incredulous. “You’re sorry?”
    “Someone shot up my house when my sister was home. I
    thought it was your guys. I was wrong.”
    The Carver paced all around him. Wesley tensed,
    expecting to feel the blade plunge into his bony body,
    disemboweling him. Sweat rol ed off his nose and dripped
    onto the floor.
    “I brought the memory chip from the camera to give you,”
    he offered.
    “Where is it?”
    Wesley kicked off one of his tennis shoes. “Under the
    insole.”
    The Carver used the knife to lift the insole, then withdrew
    the blue memory card, pierced on the tip. “This is the only
    copy of the pictures?”
    “Yes.”
    The man dropped the punctured card on the floor, then
    stomped on it for good measure. Every time his heel came
    down on the chip, Wesley flinched.
    When The Carver stopped, he was panting and slightly
    disheveled. Using his hand, he smoothed his hair back in
    place, then bestowed a slow smile on Wesley. “But I can
    understand that you were trying to protect your sister.”
    Wesley swallowed hard. “You can?”
    “Sure. I have sisters. That’s why I’m going to let you live.”
    Relief flooded Wesley’s body.
    “In return for a fee.”
    “Fee?”
    The man began grooming his nails with the tip of the knife.
    “For pain and suffering.”
    “H-how much?”
    “Twenty-five large.”
    Wesley felt weak again. “I don’t have twenty-five grand.”
    “Then you need to raise it, Wesley. By five o’clock.”
    “I don’t know anyone who has money like that.”
    “Think hard,” the loan shark said. “Because if you don’t
    come up with the money, you’re a dead man. Then who’s
    going to protect your sister?”
    Wesley bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted
    blood.
    “I’m a busy man, so you’d better be thinking of who you
    need to call. I’m going to have a sandwich. I’m sending
    Mouse in with your cel phone—he’ll make the cal s for
    you. If you try to signal someone or get the police
    involved, your sister is as good as dead.” He walked closer.
    “Here’s a little incentive.”
    The Carver grabbed Wesley’s arm and with a twist of his
    wrist, sliced a two-inch letter C into Wesley’s forearm.
    The pain was intense. Wesley gasped as his blood dripped
    onto the floor to mix with the other stains. Since his hands
    were stil cuffed, he