Superhero Read Online Free PDF Page B

one off at an address uptown. With a colorful bow if possible. When Jack went home, he thought about taking a shower but was too tired so he lay down, and was asleep in minutes.
    When he woke it was dark outside and the moon was out. It was nearly ten and he realized he was late. He quickly jumped in the shower, put on a gray pinstripe suit with no tie, and ran out the door.
    The Red Salamander—a bar in Santa Monica—was packed to the brim when he arrived. He had to find parking across the street before heading inside.
    The bar was dimly lit but clean. It had a post-modern feel to it, mostly glass and chrome.
    Jack spotted William and several other detectives at a large booth and he came over. William shouted something like, “This is the guy I’ve been telling you about,” and introductions went around before Jack sat down.
     
     
    Ricardo Hernandez walked in to the Red Salamander and noticed the ladies on the dance floor. The music was turned up so loud you couldn’t hear yourself talk and that’s the way he liked it. He stared at the women a while, his three men behind him waiting until he had his fill, and then they made their way to a bouncer guarding the entrance to the back offices.
    The bouncer nodded to them and let them through. Walking down a short hallway, they turned into a large office. A tall man with a bald head and a shiny shirt counted out cash behind a desk. A small amount of cocaine was laid on a mirror in front of him next to a straw cut in half.
    “Armand,” Ricardo said, holding out his arms. Armand rose and they embraced. “How are you?”
    “Bien. Y tu?”
    “Can’t complain. So, where are our guests?”
    “Not here yet.”
    Ricardo sighed. “This new generation, they have no respect for anything.”
    “You’re preaching to the choir.”
    After a commotion outside, the bouncer ran in. “They’re here. They wouldn’t give up their guns.”
    “That’s fine. Send them in,” Armand said.
    Within a few moments, several men with dreadlocks walked in. They were giggling and didn’t attempt to hide their guns at all. One of them had an assault rifle strapped to his back.
    “My friends,” Armand said, “welcome. Please, have a seat.”
    Although there were several couches and chairs around the office the men didn’t sit down. One of them, a short white man with greasy blond dreads, stepped forward.
    “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”
    “And you are Agamemnon?”
    The men chuckled. “No, I am not Agamemnon.”
    Armand exhaled loudly. “I was hoping to speak to someone in charge.”
    “You can speak to me. I’ll tell him whatever you want me to tell him.”
    Armand’s face grew dark. Ricardo knew he had sent a personal invitation for Agamemnon so they could speak like civilized human beings rather than shoot it out on the streets. But if they didn’t want to be civilized, Ricardo also knew no one was better at being uncivilized than Armand.
    “I want you to tell him,” Armand said, “that if you filthy pieces of shit don’t stop selling glass in my neighborhoods, we’re going to have a problem.”
    “And how are they your neighborhoods?”
    The vein in Armand’s temple flared. The men did not know him well enough to know what that meant but Ricardo did. Ricardo took a step back and put his hand on the Smith & Wesson tucked in a holster on his hip.
    “They are my neighborhoods,” Armand said, walking around the desk, “because I say they are mine. I’ve seen a lot of filthy beggars like you come along and they all fizzle like oil in a pan. You are no different. I’m giving you one chance to leave. Not just the city, the county. I don’t want you anywhere near my people. You have one week to do as I say. If not, I will hunt you down one by one until this is finished.”
    The men chuckled again. Ricardo was amazed by the insolence.
    “I can tell you Agamemnon’s answer now if you like?”
    Armand held out his arms. “By all means.”
    The man flipped a