Big Money (Austin Carr Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

steel like he’s breaking down a locked vault, Luis times his explosion precisely as Creeper’s noggin rises between the top of the Suburban’s door and the frame. The chunky sound of steel on Creeper’s head—like someone dropped a stick of butter on the floor—makes me wince. Max staggers to one knee, blood oozing from his temple. His shoulders weave, and he tumbles face first onto the parking lot’s shredded bark. The earth shakes like somebody dropped a piano.
    My heart’s drumming, hard rain on a cardboard roof. The two guys in suits have scrambled out of the Suburban’s rear seat, slowly at first to watch the fight, then knocking me down, pushing past, as Max goes down. They want Luis. One rushes around the grill, the other goes for the rear bumper to trap him. My lungs want more oxygen.
    Luis stoops out of my view from the top, then reappears like magic photography back inside the Suburban, sitting in the driver’s seat. One hand extends a gun toward Bluefish’s head. Luis must have taken the weapon from Max. A tear of sweat rolls down my right flank.
    I see Luis’s end game, at last, and jump back inside the Suburban. Same seat I had before, behind Bluefish. Luis hits the override button as soon as my door shuts, raising all the windows and locking the three of us inside. Luis grins as he hands me the gun. What an hombre . “Watch carefully Bluefish’s hands. If you lose sight of them, shoot.”
    It would be my pleasure, I think. I’m no killer, but if Bluefish has another gun on him, and I don’t shoot whe n he goes for his weapon, Luis and/or I could suffer serious and permanent injury.
    Bluefish is no risk taker, however. He shows me the back of his hands, one poised by each ear. How sweet. He’s wearing his missing wife’s wedding band. Gold, and not perfectly round, the circle squared with tiny corners.
    I line up the muzzle with the back of Bluefish’s demented brain, although I am seriously starting to worry about the two guys in suits. Locked out, they are hammering the windows and yanking on the doors and now firing weapons.
    I duck. Cracks appear on the window beside Luis’s head, but the bullets don’t penetrate. Bulletproof glass? I’m not only impressed with Bluefish’s expensive and professional defenses, but also the fact Luis must have figured this out earlier. I remember him tapping the glass with his knuckles.
    Luis throttles the Suburban into a bark spewing K-turn.
    Bluefish says , “You humps are as good as dead.”
     
     

 
    EIGHT
     
    Plenty of parking at the Mexican Grill when Luis bounces us back into his gravel lot. With no bartender to mix drinks for over an hour, Luis’s thirsty customers obviously sought refreshment elsewhere. In Branchtown, drinking loyalties have limits.
    I’m breathing like a normal running Labrador again as Luis flips off the engine. My heart-rate’s taken a dive, too. Probably down to a smooth one-eighty. Don’t think I was meant to aim guns at people. Or maybe it’s the dead-ass blank stare Bluefish just gave me. Looking at this guy gives me the idea I might be out of my league.
    Luis swings his shoulders to confront Bluefish, holds up the car keys like a prize. “You will keep your word, forget about the favors you asked?”
    Good thing I’ve got Luis, El Hombre . The man is in a league of his own.
    Bluefish nods, reaches for the keys. “Sure.”
    Don’t know about Luis, but Bluefish’s tone and manner do not sate me with confidence. In fact, it’s impossible to even hope he’s telling the truth. Or maybe I’m just the skeptical type. Being a stockbroker and all.
    But I am not the only one. Bluefish’s fingers snatch air as Luis yanks the keys back. Luis says, “I would be a fool to let you leave if you only plan to kill us.”
    Glad Luis agreed with my zero reading of Bluefish’s Sincerity Meter. Bluefish better be careful what he says next, too. I know for a fact Luis has the stomach to kill.
    “I’ll keep the bargain,”