Riding the Rap Read Online Free PDF

put those snippers away when you did, you could’ve taken a load of buckshot in the ass. I just want you to know that.”
    The man talking now with backup, confident as can be. Louis watched Bobby turn his way.
    â€œYou work for this guy?”
    Louis shrugged. “We got something on.”
    Chip said, “I believe you know my partner, Louis Lewis?”
    Presenting one ex-con to another, the man watching to see the effect on Bobby Deo, a different situation than when they were outside. Louis and Bobby looked at each other with no expression to speak of.
    Bobby saying, “Use to be Abu, the Bahamian Arabian,” with a mild expression now, pleasant enough.
    And now Louis showed a slight smile telling him, “I gave up that shit once I got my release. What we’d like to know, Señor Deogracias, the bill collector, if you think you ready for the big time.”
    See what he thought of that.
    But then Chip stepped in saying, “What Louis means—something we’ve been talking about here—we wonder if you’d be interested in a proposition.”
    Bobby looked at Louis and Louis said, “A score, a big one.”
    Bobby seemed to consider it for a moment. He said, “How much we talking about?”
    Louis had to smile, the man showing his greed, wanting to know the take before asking what it was about.
    â€œWe’ll be dealing in millions,” Chip said, “with a way to keep it coming in as long as we want.”
    Bobby said, “What’s the split?”
    â€œThree ways, we all get the same.”
    â€œYou say millions—nothing to it.”
    â€œAt least a couple mil each time we score. This is no one-shot deal.”
    â€œYeah, what is it? What do we do?”
    â€œWe take hostages,” Chip said and waited while Bobby Deo stared at him.
    No doubt running out of patience, so Louis gave him a hint. “Like the Shia took those hostages over in Beirut? You know what I’m saying? Over in Lebanon—blindfolded them, kept them chained up? Like that.”
    Chip said, “Only we’ll be doing it for profit.”
    â€œYou talking about kidnapping,” Bobby said.
    â€œIn a way,” Chip said, “only different. A lot different.”

four
    B y the time Raylan got to Joyce’s apartment in Miami Beach it was too late to go out to dinner. He mentioned he’d tried to call her three or four times. Joyce said she forgot to turn her machine on—nothing about where she was all afternoon. She fixed him scrambled eggs and toast and made herself a drink. Finally, sitting at the kitchen table while Raylan ate his supper, Joyce said, “Harry got picked up for drunk driving.”
    â€œToday?”
    â€œA few weeks ago. They took his license away for six months.”
    â€œI told you it would happen.”
    â€œI know. That’s why I haven’t said anything.”
    â€œHe still drinking?”
    â€œHe’s trying to quit.” She paused and said, “I’ve been sort of driving him around. Harry’s looking for customers who still owe him money.”
    â€œYou realize you’re aiding in illegal transactions?”
    Joyce said, “Oh, for Christ sake,” and there was a silence.
    Raylan got up to get a beer from the refrigerator. Joyce asked him, as she always did, if he wanted a glass. Raylan said no thanks. After another pause, aware of himself and aware of Joyce sitting with her drink, he said, “Why don’t you put that new Roy Orbison on?”
    She said, “All right,” but didn’t move, lighting a cigarette now, a new habit she’d picked up being around Harry. The first time she played the new Roy Orbison for him the CD came to “The Only One” and Joyce said if she were still dancing she’d use it in her routine. Joyce had moved her hips to the slow, draggy beat and showed Raylan where she’d throw in the bumps. “’Every one you