South Texas Tangle. T.K. O'Neill

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ so that was a potential problem.

      Cyn’s stomach did a few somersaults as she went into the bathroom, slipped out of her underwear and turned on the water in the shower stall.

      6

      Gray clouds roiling below his window, Sam Arndt pressed his hands against his stomach and gazed out along the wing as the puddle jumper airplane bounced and dipped in the unruly sky. Rough ride all the way from San Antonio and it wasn’t getting any better as they approached Corpus Christi. Getting downright scary in fact, goddamnit. This connector flight, Sam was now recalling, was on the same airline that recently had one of its planes land at the wrong airstrip, pilot putting down at an old Navy runway several miles from the Corpus Christi commercial airport. Now Sam knew why the travel guides advised against connector flights on these small planes undoubtedly held together with bailing wire and duct tape.

      Death tube, Frankie Neelan called it when they boarded in San Antonio, the words shrinking Sam’s nut sack. But Frankie the big Irish prick wasn’t doing so well now, was he? Neelan’s oversized red head was jammed down on a pillow in his lap, been that way for the last five minutes as the plane dropped and shook in the turbulence.

      In the middle of the next weightless, gut churning free fall, Sam heard a loud bang outside his window, metallic and sharp like a piece of wing falling off or a bolt snapping.

      Goddamnit, man, what the hell?

      Sam turned his head toward the sound then tried his best to act nonchalant as Frankie’s spiky red head jerked up above the seat back; Frankie’s eyes open wide, jaw muscles twitching. “What the fuck was that?” Frankie said, loud enough for everyone in the plane to hear. The passengers ignored Frankie but Sam noticed a lot of them gripping the seat arms a little tighter behind their masks of exaggerated indifference.

      “Just the gremlins having some fun with us, Frankie,” Sam said. He was enjoying the fear he saw in the Irishman’s eyes. It made him feel stronger. “Do not despair, we’ll be on the ground soon.” Laying it on thick.

      “As long as it’s not too soon,” Neelan said, turning back around, his neck stretched out and looking tight.

      Big goof seems like a nice enough guy for one of Ryan’s thugs, Sam thought. A little fear makes him seem almost human. Sam was beginning to sense some possibilities, noting the chinks in the big boy’s armor. Half a foot taller but could he go the distance?

      Ten minutes later Sam was breathing easier as the wheels touched down on the runway and the plane went into its shaking, rattling, rapid slowdown phase. Another escape from the jaws of death. Heavenly virgins would have to wait for a while. Although Sam was never really on board with the virgins-as-heavenly-reward concept, not being a Muslim and having known only ugly virgins in his time in America, almost thirty years now.

      Shuffling around in the terminal waiting for the luggage, Sam studied Frankie, the tall rangy kid’s body language getting back to brave and upright now that they were safely on the ground. Sam was thinking the goon’s square red head was a big enough target, should he have to put one in there someday. But he was hoping it wouldn’t come down to that.

      “We need a cab, Frankie?” Sam asked. “There’s several out front.”

      “Bob said some bloke would be here for us. One of Bob’s border boys.”

      “Border boys?”

      “What he calls them. Fancies himself an international mucky-muck, Bob does. Wants you to believe he’s got eyes in all corners of the globe.”

      “Maybe he does.”

      “Not likely,” Frankie said, shaking his head and staring at the slot where suitcases, were popping out.

      Sam picked his suitcase off the shiny metal track and rolled it outside into the warm mist. Air was soft and mild, despite the slight rain, and a great deal gentler on Sam’s Middle Eastern flesh than Minnesota this time of year. Soothing. Looking across the pavement, Sam saw a light-skinned Mexican standing in front of a black Chevy Suburban, the man holding a hunk of cardboard with Frankie scrawled across it in black magic marker. Sam watched with a little resentment as Frankie came out of the terminal wheeling his bag and went up to the guy, said a few words. The Mex made a face resembling a growl more than a smile and motioned toward the idling SUV.

      This stunk. But at least he wasn’t bouncing around in the sky anymore. Sam crossed the street with his bag and climbed in the back seat of the SUV. He pulled his bag in and watched the Mex driver hand Frankie a small parcel wrapped in butcher paper. Assuming it was a gun, Sam waited for his package. But nothing came and then he remembered how sick he was of the back of Frankie Neelan’s large square head. Stuck with it on the plane and now there the mick was in the front seat of the SUV and Sam was trapped behind that big, ugly red thing again, goddamnit. Sam leaned back in the seat and shrugged on the inside. You can’t fight fate; you can only adapt was his longtime motto. Had served him well in his previous journeys.

      Sam entertained no doubts about the pecking order here. Bob Ryan was in charge and the two in the front seat were his men. Nothing new. Sam was used to being underestimated and relegated to the backseat and had learned there were certain advantages. A man can see everything from the back of the bus. The lack of scrutiny given to those bringing up the rear allowed one the freedom to be creative. Over the years Sam had learned that being underestimated was like Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility—nobody paid you much attention. Yes sir, everyone thought old Sam was just a big pussycat and when the claws came out it was always a big surprise.

      The SUV was on route to the Surf and Sand Hotel in downtown Corpus Christi. Frankie had made the reservations on his goddamn phone. Frankie told Sam that Ryan said Sam should pay for his own room. Sam was surprised Ryan didn’t insist he pay for both rooms. Could still end up that way, never could be sure what Ryan might do. But one thing Sam knew for sure, you better do what Ryan said or you might wake up dead.

      Sam pulled out his cell and hit Jimmy’s number, gazing off to his right at a large expanse of blue-gray water rolling gently onto a large curve of smooth sand. The beauty of it made Sam’s gut twist with frustration. Rage simmered deep in his chest as he grappled with the realization that his escape from the winter doldrums was trending toward dismemberment and burial in the barren plains of West Texas. Shit.

      Not conducive to relaxation.

      The phone rang and rang and Jimmy didn’t pick up and now the biting sand flies beneath Sam’s skin were stirring. Damn little Dago prick was making him need another pill already. Which hastened the need for food in Sam’s stomach. Which opened up another basket of snakes when you had Sam’s digestive problems.

      Frankie turned and looked back at Sam from the front seat. “Get a hold of your man yet, Sammy?” Frankie said.

      “Not yet, Frankie my friend. I’ll have to try again from the hotel. My battery’s nearly dead.”

      “There’ll be a rental car waiting for us at the hotel. Bob said you should put it on your credit card.”

      “Of course,” Sam said, swallowing back bile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

      Frankie, gazing out his window, said, “I’m thinking it wouldn’t be bad to stay down here in Tex-ass a while. Nice to feel the warmth.”

      “Warmth is nice,” Sam said as the SUV turned onto a street lined with high rising buildings of glass and СКАЧАТЬ