Bad Penny Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: John D. Brown
grinned at his own joke. “We’re bushed. We just need a place to crash. Maybe a new set of wheels. I saw that junkyard you drove up in. We’ve got a nice Nissan out back. Let us borrow it.”
“You drove hours just to switch me cars? Is that it, Ed?”
“You were on the way. Why not stop in? Besides, we’ve been going since early yesterday morning. Driving sleepy is as bad as driving drunk. We’re trying to be responsible citizens and keep the roads safe. We just need a bed.”
“Get a room at a motel.”
Ed sighed and dropped the old buddy routine. “Frank, you owe me. You yourself said you owed me. Now it’s time to pay up. I’m not asking anything unreasonable.”
“You’re not staying here. I’m not putting anything on the line. Not for you and especially not Señor Zombie there.”
“Okay,” Ed said, “but I do need your car. You’re going to give me your car.”
Jesus had his hand behind his back, up under his untucked shirt. So that’s where he carried his piece. Or maybe that’s where he carried a knife. Maybe he’d used that knife to saw the heads off of a couple of victims south of the border.
Jesus was giving him the eye.
Frank gave him the eye back. “What? You want this?”
Jesus cocked his head, his expression begging Frank to say one more word, to just give him an excuse to pull his hand out of the back of his pants.
Frank cocked his head and invited Jesus right back. Señor Zombie was big, but not as big as Frank. And there was a bit of a gut on him. He’d looked like one of those brawlers that could take a punch, and from the looks of his nose he’d taken a few. But Frank hadn’t been trained to dink around giving punches. He hadn’t been trained to brawl. If Jesus wanted to throw down, it would be the last time he did.
The tension ratcheted up, and then Señor Zombie’s eyes slid to the side. He shook his head and looked over at Ed. “It’s time to blow,” he said.
“Give us the keys,” Ed said in a hard flat tone. “Jesus is going to move some bags. And we’ll be out of your hair.”
Frank had heard that tone of voice before. He knew Ed meant business.
Frank didn’t have any good options. Their car was dirty, no doubt about that. It was stolen, or they’d been tagged in it, or they were being followed. Or it was something else. It didn’t matter—the car was a liability every minute it was around. Which meant Frank was going to have to get rid of it.
But that wouldn’t solve his problem because if Ed had Frank’s car and something happened, if they pawned the Nova off to someone else who got into trouble, the VIN would go into some cop’s computer and a moment later point directly back to him. It would reach across state lines, and the next thing he knew, here’d come Sergeant Lee with his sunny cop pals.
Ed was taking a risk coming here. He was into something. Something that might require leaving no witnesses. Suddenly Frank didn’t think it was such a good idea to be in this house with the two of them. It was a lot easier to kill someone behind four walls than outside where some nosey neighbor might see.
Frank said, “Sure, I’ll give you the keys. Outside.” Then he backed up a step, and before they could say anything, he opened the front door and walked out to the porch.
Ed and Jesus shared a moment of silent communication, and then Ed shrugged. He slipped his gun in his vest and said, “I knew you’d see it my way, buddy.” Then he walked out and joined Frank on the porch. Jesus followed.
Ed smelled of cigarettes. Señor Zombie had some kind of rancid medicine breath, the kind that reached out three or four feet to shake your hand. He walked past Frank down the steps and around to the side of the house where the RV pad lay, dragging his bad breath with him.
Ed stayed on the porch, took in a big breath of air. “We’re going to use your garage,” he said. “Jesus will bring the car around. It will be easier to switch the bags in
“You drove hours just to switch me cars? Is that it, Ed?”
“You were on the way. Why not stop in? Besides, we’ve been going since early yesterday morning. Driving sleepy is as bad as driving drunk. We’re trying to be responsible citizens and keep the roads safe. We just need a bed.”
“Get a room at a motel.”
Ed sighed and dropped the old buddy routine. “Frank, you owe me. You yourself said you owed me. Now it’s time to pay up. I’m not asking anything unreasonable.”
“You’re not staying here. I’m not putting anything on the line. Not for you and especially not Señor Zombie there.”
“Okay,” Ed said, “but I do need your car. You’re going to give me your car.”
Jesus had his hand behind his back, up under his untucked shirt. So that’s where he carried his piece. Or maybe that’s where he carried a knife. Maybe he’d used that knife to saw the heads off of a couple of victims south of the border.
Jesus was giving him the eye.
Frank gave him the eye back. “What? You want this?”
Jesus cocked his head, his expression begging Frank to say one more word, to just give him an excuse to pull his hand out of the back of his pants.
Frank cocked his head and invited Jesus right back. Señor Zombie was big, but not as big as Frank. And there was a bit of a gut on him. He’d looked like one of those brawlers that could take a punch, and from the looks of his nose he’d taken a few. But Frank hadn’t been trained to dink around giving punches. He hadn’t been trained to brawl. If Jesus wanted to throw down, it would be the last time he did.
The tension ratcheted up, and then Señor Zombie’s eyes slid to the side. He shook his head and looked over at Ed. “It’s time to blow,” he said.
“Give us the keys,” Ed said in a hard flat tone. “Jesus is going to move some bags. And we’ll be out of your hair.”
Frank had heard that tone of voice before. He knew Ed meant business.
Frank didn’t have any good options. Their car was dirty, no doubt about that. It was stolen, or they’d been tagged in it, or they were being followed. Or it was something else. It didn’t matter—the car was a liability every minute it was around. Which meant Frank was going to have to get rid of it.
But that wouldn’t solve his problem because if Ed had Frank’s car and something happened, if they pawned the Nova off to someone else who got into trouble, the VIN would go into some cop’s computer and a moment later point directly back to him. It would reach across state lines, and the next thing he knew, here’d come Sergeant Lee with his sunny cop pals.
Ed was taking a risk coming here. He was into something. Something that might require leaving no witnesses. Suddenly Frank didn’t think it was such a good idea to be in this house with the two of them. It was a lot easier to kill someone behind four walls than outside where some nosey neighbor might see.
Frank said, “Sure, I’ll give you the keys. Outside.” Then he backed up a step, and before they could say anything, he opened the front door and walked out to the porch.
Ed and Jesus shared a moment of silent communication, and then Ed shrugged. He slipped his gun in his vest and said, “I knew you’d see it my way, buddy.” Then he walked out and joined Frank on the porch. Jesus followed.
Ed smelled of cigarettes. Señor Zombie had some kind of rancid medicine breath, the kind that reached out three or four feet to shake your hand. He walked past Frank down the steps and around to the side of the house where the RV pad lay, dragging his bad breath with him.
Ed stayed on the porch, took in a big breath of air. “We’re going to use your garage,” he said. “Jesus will bring the car around. It will be easier to switch the bags in