Dutch Read Online Free PDF Page B

chains, NOW!” Mrs. Piazza moved over closer to
     her husband, quickly removing her many jewels. Dutch stared at the gunman openly. The gunman turned to him. “Who the fuck
     is you? The monkey or somethin’? Get yo’ ass in front of me where I can see you, nigga!”
    Dutch stepped over to the counter on the gunman’s left, still clutching the broom. The gunman ran up to the cash register
     and shoved the gun in Roberto’s face.
    “Okay, you fuckin’ wop, put all that money in a bag, real quick, ya dig, and it’ll all go down smooth.”
    Roberto began to fill the bag, never taking his eyes off the gunman. He was trying to find a distinctive mark or tattoo with
     which to identify the man later, on his own time, but the gloves and mask completely covered up his skin.
    “Hurry up!”
    Dutch looked at the murder in Roberto’s eyes and he knew he had to do something. He looked at the gunman, who continued to
     keep a close watch on him in case he tried to run. But Dutch was no sprinter. He had already decided what to do by the time
     Roberto handed the bag to the robber and he began backing toward the door. Just as the gunman was about to make his exit,
     Dutch spoke up.
    “That’s not all the money.”
    Roberto and his wife looked at Dutch with wide-eyed surprise. The gunman stopped dead in his tracks.
    “Whut?” he asked, confused, as he glanced down at the bag of money he held. “Whut you say?”
    “I said, that ain’t all the money. The old wop got a safe in the back,” Dutch stated calmly, watching the greed build in the
     gunman’s eyes.
    Roberto shot Dutch a look of death. “You little black bastard! I’ll kill you! I may not know him, but I swear to God I’m gonna
     fuckin’ kill you!”
    Mrs. Piazza looked at her husband, concerned for his blood pressure and bad heart, then coldly stared at Dutch. How could
     Dutch do that after all her husband had done for him? She couldn’t figure it out. She questioned, but it made no sense to
     her.
    “Roberto, why you let the black kid sweep up at the end of the night? He’s a moulyan and you got him hanging around like he
     belongs,” she had questioned her husband.
    “I like the kid, Miriam. Is that okay with you? He’s just a kid, he’s harmless,” Roberto had responded.
    He isn’t that fuckin’ harmless. He got a nigger in our restaurant about to rob us blind,
thought Mrs. Piazza to herself.
    The gunman looked at Roberto, then at Dutch, then took a quick glance over his shoulder at the street. He lifted the gun in
     Roberto’s direction, then waved it toward the back.
    “You heard the little nigga”, he said, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “Let’s go in the back, all of us.”
    Roberto looked at Dutch angrily and Dutch returned his gaze nonchalantly. They all headed to the back with the gunman bringing
     up the rear. When they reached the storage room, the gunman shoved Mrs. Piazza into the corner and put the gun to Roberto’s
     head. “Where’s the safe, lil’ man?” he asked Dutch, never taking his eyes off Roberto.
    “Bottom drawer of the file cabinet. Snatch the door off and it’s right there,” Dutch told him.
    “Get to it, cracker,” the gunman spat as Roberto shot Dutch one last murderous stare, before bending down to open the bottom
     drawer. When it was removed, it revealed a large safe.
    “Bingo!” the gunman hollered happily.
    Roberto opened the safe and inside were stacks and stacks of money.
    “Cl-clean it out!” the gunman stammered. He’d never seen so much money in his life. He’d only hoped for enough to get high
     for the night, but the safe appeared to have enough to get high for the rest of his life!
    “Thanks, lil’ man. You leave wit’ me after this!”
    He took his attention off Dutch, which was his first and last mistake. Mrs. Piazza saw the gun come out of Dutch’s waist before
     her husband. The gunman never saw it. She started to scream and the little sound that did escape her lips caught the