Skin Games Read Online Free PDF

squealed.  The dice that hung from his mirror jerked up and down; I jerked up and down along with them.
    Some shitty disco song blared out of the radio, and between that and the exhaust, I couldn’t hear a word Scrubby said.  But he kept on talking the entire ride up the thruway, then onto the Hutchinson River Parkway into Pelham Manor.  He got off the parkway and finally turned down the radio.
    “We don’t want to draw too much attention,” he said.
    “Good idea.”
    We cruised down the main artery and then Scrubby let off the gas pedal and we rolled down a side street.  The car coasted as we looked both ways.
    “You see any Caddies?”
    “Vinny told me he wants Corollas,” I said.
    Scrubby smirked and shook his head.  “We won’t get shit for a Corolla.  Cadillacs are where the money’s at.”
    “I don’t know, Mike.  Vinny said…”
    “Shut up, Shamrock,” he said as he sniffled and rubbed his nose.  “Trust me.  We could be out here all night stealin’ Toyotas and be lucky to take home a few hundred each.  We get one nice Caddy or a Benz and our night is done.”
    The houses were big; some could barely be seen from the street.  The lawns were big and full of trees and grass.  I’d never seen a neighborhood like it before.  Scrubby pulled up to the front of a large, Tudor-style home and put the Monte Carlo in park.  The driveway was long and slightly on an incline.  At the top, I could see two cars parked.
    “Now that is nice.  Brand new Fleetwood Braham.  That’ll get us a grand each.”
    I shook my head.  “I don’t know.”
    “Go on.  I’ll be right here.”
    “This is my first time.  I think I should start on a Corolla.  Like Vinny said.”
    “You are a pussy, Shamrock.  I’ll do it myself then.”
    He yanked at the door handle, but just before he could push it open, we saw headlights flashing down the street.
    “Shit,” he said, then closed the door.
    The car approached, then slowed to a stop right behind us.  The bright beam of a spotlight came in through the rear windshield.
    “Fuck.  The cops,” Scrubby said.  “Just be cool.  We haven’t done anything.”
  Both doors opened and two cops walked towards the car, one on each side.  The spotlight stayed on.
    One cop rapped twice on Scrubby’s window.  Scrubby palmed the big, plastic handle those old cars had and he rolled the window down.
    “License and registration, please.”
    “Sure thing, officer.”  Scrubby reached across my lap and began to fumble through his glove box.  “I’ve got my paperwork in here somewhere.”
    “What are you boys doing here tonight?” the cop asked.  I couldn’t see his face, only his midsection as he stood up straight, towering over the car.
    On my side, I looked out and saw the other cop.  He had one hand on his holster and the other cupped to his beer-belly.  He took his hand off his belly and motioned for me to roll down my window.  I complied.
    “Keep your hands where I can see ‘em, buddy,” he said.
    I raised my hands and lay back in my seat trying not to alarm the cop while staying out of Scrubby’s way.
    Scrubby Mike leaned across my body, his elbow rubbing my gut.  He shuffled through a host of papers in the glove compartment of his car.
    The cop on the driver’s side cleared his throat.
    “I know I have the paperwork in here somewhere, officer.” Scrubby said.
    “Why don’t you step out of the car,” the cop said.
    Scrubby continued scrambling, now yanking out piles of papers and tossing them one by one over his shoulder and into the backseat of the Monte Carlo.
    “I know I have my registration in here somewhere.  Just give me a minute.”
    “Step out of the car, please.”
    Then the cop on my side reached across my body and grabbed Scrubby’s arm as he said, “You heard the man.  Let’s go.”
    “But officer, I’m sure I have it somewhere.”
    “Now!”
    The cop on the driver’s side opened Scrubby’s door.  “My patience