Levon's Trade (Levon Cade Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

himself. The rest of the crowd was there to be seen. This guy just nursed a draft at the stool farthest from the register.
    He was dressed in clean cool-weather clothes. The weather was turning cold at the start of what passes for winter in Florida. Jeans, a button down shirt and a light jacket. He was wearing what might have been the first pair of actual work boots Johnny had ever seen in Skip’s. The drinkers here were either unemployed, retired or slumming students from the colleges. Nobody was spending a paycheck.
    Maybe a soldier over from MacDill. The guy had that look. But they seldom made it this far off Dale Mabry. And when they did it was always in a group. Same for Canadians which this guy could be. They travelled in packs. It was the right time of year for snowbirds down from Ottawa and Toronto. Only they were usual older than this guy and came in couples.
    Could be a cop or someone looking to hold up the place. In either case they’d give themselves away pretending not to be looking around. This guy only seemed interested in his beer with an occasional glance up at a football game playing muted on the screen over the bar. He made a single visit to the men’s room. Johnny tried to keep track of how long he was gone but there was a rush after ten. The guy was back at the stool gesturing for a fresh draft without Johnny noting his return.
    The guy nursed the second beer. He didn’t speak to anyone except to nod at a dude asking if he could take the bowl of mixed nuts from where they rested, untouched, by the stranger’s elbow. The crowd went from rowdy and dancing to sullen and serious as the tides of beer and cocktails washed over them. The same tide carried them away in twos and threes as closing time approached. The stranger in the work boots wasn’t the last to leave but close to it. He left what remained of a twenty for two beers.
    Johnny got busy with closing. He counted out the register and put the cash and receipts in a zip bag that he dropped into the slot atop the stout safe set under the bar counter. It was someone else’s money. Someone would come and check his count tomorrow. There’d be a crew in tomorrow morning to clean the place. His job was drinks. That’s all.
    He checked the locks on the front door then shut down all but a few lights until the place dropped into a gloom tinged orange by the neon Heineken sign in the window. Johnny entered the security code at the back door and stepped into the fenced back court behind Skip’s. He worked a row of deadbolts closed in the heavy steel door and turned to his Audi parked alone in one of three spaces.
    The guy in the work boots stood by his car. Johnny should have been surprised. He wasn’t.
    “I had a question,” the guy said.
    Johnny had a question, too. How the fuck did this mutt make it over the ten foot fence topped with razor wire that surrounded the back court? The gates were still in place with loops of chromed chain and a big brass lock holding them tight.
    “What about, chief?” Johnny’s fingers opened and closed. The five-shot snubbie in the waistband at his back grew warm with a heat all its own.
    “Three weeks ago a girl was in here. This is the last place she was seen.”
    Flat and even. The guy stood easy with his hands at his side. His eyes never left Johnny’s. Even when Johnny hit the remote on his key ring making the Audi chirp. The guy never looked away.
    “I talked to the police,” Johnny said and feinted as if to make for his Audi.
    “Now you’ll talk to me.”
    Johnny stepped to drive a shoulder into the guy’s gut while reaching for the snubbie with the same move. Johnny was big with a low center of mass. He’d played hockey in a Canadian minor league. In his time he’d knocked more guys on their ass than a rodeo bull. The old speed was still there in short spurts. His legs drove him toward the guy’s unprotected ribs to drive the guy off his work boots.
    Only the guy wasn’t there.
    With nothing to