Mr. Hooligan Read Online Free PDF

heard that Red Boy had been shot on the same day Riley had gone to make his collection and in the same general area? He remembered how Riley had appeared really nervous that evening, how he wouldn’t stay for a beer or have any of the chips and guacamole Mirta Monsanto had prepared. So he started making inquires. People like the Monsantos have connections everywhere, you understand.
    “Riley’s fears came true, but it wasn’t the cops who showed up; instead it was Israel and Carlo Monsanto who knocked at his door early one morning. ‘Come,’ Israel said, ‘let’s go somewhere private we could have a little talk. And I want you to wear the same shoes you had on the other day you went to the agri fair.’ And Carlo, the younger one, said, ‘Also, the .45 we lent you. We’ll be needing it back.’
    “Imagine the fear. Riley just about collapsed. But he held his composure, for a good while, he surprised himself. The Monsantos drove him up the Western and turned onto Manatee Road and parked on the roadside after about a half mile, and Israel said, ‘It’s right around here the police found those boys. Know who I’m talking about?’ And he stared directly into Riley’s face, waiting for a reaction. Then Israel just laid it out for him. He said that when you decide you’re going to shoot someone you must be smart enough to conceal the evidence, and that means you must pick up after yourself. Then Carlo, he’s always had a temper, broke in with, ‘Three things that cops know already, okay? Those boys were shot with a .45, footprints matching a size eleven Adidas were found at the scene on this dusty road, and a small yellow Volkswagen was seen racing with the Lebanese’s truck on the Western Highway that evening.’ He told Riley, he said something like, ‘You have a .45 in your possession, my .45. You are wearing Adidas tennis shoes, size eleven, and you drive a yellow Volkswagen. You dumb shit.’ Israel had to settle his brother down. Israel told Riley, ‘Tell us what happened, and don’t lie or we turn you in this morning.’
    “So that was that. He told the Monsantos everything. Except he wasn’t racing, he said. Red Boy had been following him and he was trying to get away. Israel didn’t care about that, he’d heard enough and he was all about what do we do now. First, they got rid of the tennis shoes, flung them deep into the bushes off the Western. Next, they disassembled the gun and that night they dumped some parts into the West Collet canal and some in the Belize River. The car? Israel said there was nothing to be done about the car. Two friendly policemen were coming to question Riley next morning. He advised Riley to just relax, stick to his story and everything would be fine.
    “The police did come. They talked to him for five or ten minutes. They explained to him how people saw him racing with the truck, making threatening gestures at Myvette and the Lebanese, how people had seen them arguing at the agricultural fair—they tried different angles, they mixed truth and fabrication, to see if they could trip him up, catch him in a lie. When the police left, Israel Monsanto paid a visit and said, ‘You’re goddamn lucky.’ That was the closest the police ever got to Riley. They never came around again, and the investigation fizzled out. Life went on as before, Riley doing collections and guiding drops—a little wiser, though, and the Monsantos profiting from it. Carlo was never shy about reminding him that if they hadn’t helped, if not for their pulling strings, and if the police were more capable? He would surely be living the rest of his life behind bars—as Carlo would say, as someone else’s bitch.
    “Which brings us to the present concern. It’s been almost twenty years and Riley—he’s not so young anymore, he’s middle-aged, he’s an upstanding citizen, a business owner, taxpayer, a father, though his marriage didn’t work out, but he’s a good father—”
    Roger Hunter