Hard Case Crime: Money Shot Read Online Free PDF

brain function, they reluctantly agreed to do their part, though not without a lot of surly grumbling.
    For a piece of shit, the latches on the Civic’s back seats were annoyingly well made and solid. I had to brace my back against the rear of the trunk and push with all the strength left in my legs. The strain of it made my head fill with dizzy red spangles, but eventually the seat on the passenger side flopped down, letting a weak wash of yellow light into my dark little world. It hurt my eyes and made me feel like a Morlock as I wiggled out through the gap.
    Now that I could see where I was, I still had no idea where I was. Rundown industrial wasteland like this was all over Southern California. All over the country, even, but the drive had felt like less than thirty minutes so I figured I must still be in or near the L.A. area.
    The Civic turned out to be parked at the far end of a lot behind a large empty warehouse with mostly broken windows. I thought I heard a train somewhere close, but couldn’t see any tracks. The sodium lights illuminating the scene sat atop graffitied poles around the warehouse next door, which was apparently still in use. On the other side was a weedy vacant lot.
    I had been so focused on the series of tasks required to get myself out of the trunk that I had almost lost track of the bigger picture. Now that I was loose and alive, the cold fury that had taken second place to basic survival suddenly moved up to center stage. I was so angry, it felt almost like love. Angry for being made to feel helpless and scared. Angry for having my nice comfortable life torn open and savaged and left bleeding. Angry for getting the shit kicked out of me and Sam too, all for something I didn’t even understand. I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to find Jesse and the rhino and their boss, that fucker with the bland everyman face. Find them and kill them.
    I slowly pushed open the Civic’s passenger-side door and put my bare feet on the grimy concrete, high on beautiful, full-color action movie fantasies of dishing out. 44-caliber vigilante justice. That’s when I realized I was naked.
    I’m about as far from shy as you can get, but walking around a neighborhood like this in the altogether was the dictionary definition of a bad idea. I figured I needed to table the whole vendetta thing until I could find something to cover my girly bits.
    There was nothing in the car at all, not even a map or an old burger wrapper. I thought about trying to tear the vinyl off the seats but it was too tough and my right arm was throbbing and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. I scanned the narrow lot, searching for anything that I could use to cover myself. Nothing but a single torn black trash bag, more than half full of stuff I didn’t even want to think about. I shook out the contents onto the cement and turned the bag inside out so that the wet side would not touch my skin. The smell was appalling. I tore open the bottom all the way until I had a sort of skirt-shaped thing and stepped squeamishly into it. Instead of tying it at my waist, I pulled it up to just above my breasts, like a towel. The bottom of the bag covered the cheeks of my ass but only if I stood completely straight. It was bad, barely better than naked and much, much stinkier. Breathing shallowly though my mouth, I limped around to the front of the warehouse.
    The faded sign on the building’s rough brick hide gave away nothing. HW Equipment Ltd. I saw an address spray painted above a heavily barred door. 23202. No street name.
    The warehouse was near the dead end of a desolate block of ugly industrial buildings. It felt like a marathon just to make it to a cross street. When I finally found one, my eyes had trouble focusing on the signs. East 37th and Saco Street. I didn’t recognize either one. I could have been anywhere.
    I found a rusty shopping cart at the intersection. It was full of swollen, moldy phonebooks and an eclectic collection of