Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

bumps. Morrison looked at
Mike on his left. His partner was all absorbed by his driving duties on the tight
and twisty path. Obviously, he no longer shared his outlook. When they had
formed their alliance for that operation three years ago, violence had been
deliberately excluded from the script. But Mike was Mike. Not an idiot. Not at
all. But not so sharp either. Too much inclined to take the easier path for his
own good, to cut corners. Morrison looked at him again. What was he up to now?
What was his line of business these days? Morrison had no clue, but for sure
he’d need to find out. What he was sure of was that he would be an uneasy
partner. Before his prison sentence, Morrison had been in front of him in the
pecking order. Didn’t call him Junior for nothing. But now, Mike seemed intent
on showing that the trend had reversed. At least that’s what he seemed to think.
    Morrison looked around. It
was one hell of a property. Must’ve cost a fortune. A sly thought occurred to
him.
    “You bought this place
with Tommy’s money, didn’t you?” he asked.
    Mike didn’t really answer.
“I’m looking after his interests while he’s inside.”
    Morrison beamed. “That’s
what I thought. You don’t have enough money of your own for a place like this.”
    Mike sneered sideways at
him and said, “I bet after three years in the can, you’re not so flush
yourself.”
    “You’re right. I’ll need
money. Thanks for offering.”
    While he fought the wheel
with his left hand, Mike dug into his coat pocket with his right. He fished out
a tight roll of bills and threw it on Morrison’s lap.
    “This should get you
started,” he said.
    “I’ll also need a car.”
    “You can take one of the
Navigators. I’ll give you the key inside.”
    “A cell phone.”
    “Check in the glove box. I
think there’s a prepaid there.”
    Morrison thumbed the
button on the dashboard in front of him and rummaged through the compartment. While
he did so, he said, “And a place to crash.”
    Mike cracked a grin. “No problem,”
he said. “There’s now one more free room in the house. You can have it.”
    Morrison found the phone.
An old flip model. He opened it and tested it by calling a pizza chain whose delivery
number he remembered. It worked just fine.
    They drove the rest of the
way in silence.
    The house came at them
from its back, showing a wide open terrace shielded by a sloped shingle roof
that led to a big swimming pool complete with a waterslide.
    “You want a gun?” Mike
asked.
    Morrison waived off the
proposition. “No thanks,” he said. “I haven’t changed my mind on those.”
    Mike shook his head in
disbelief. Morrison didn’t pay too much attention to him. Instead, he kept his
gaze focused ahead on the cluster of vehicles now becoming visible. The three
big black Navigators he had seen before still sat in front of the garage. Next
to them now stood one more car, a BMW X3. Rather intriguing. For in its
immaculate, plain arctic-white paintjob, the delicate German SUV stood out in
stark contrast with its three massive macho cousins.
    *
    The house was one of those
that looked a lot bigger once you’ve stepped inside. The illusion was probably
down to its perfect proportions, the harmony of its exterior lines concealing its
substantial volume. It was also older than it looked from the outside and full
of details that you just didn’t see anymore in new constructions bar the odd
McMansion. Like the big hardwood winding staircase and the matching trimmings.
Morrison was no expert, but he would have guessed oak or walnut. Went back to a
time when massive pieces of lumber were still abundant and the craftsmen who
turned them into pieces of art still abounded.
    At the foot of the stairs
stood a credenza. Mike opened the single drawer and fetched a set of car keys. He
gave them to Morrison and led him upstairs.
    There were a few creaking
steps along the way. If you missed the sound of the door opening then