All Due Respect Issue #2 Read Online Free

length of her right arm. The mark was pink and smooth and looked like someone had splattered her with paint or acid.
    Tommy sucked at the cigarette. “Lemme use your phone,” he said.
    Janie led him back to the living room and gave him the telephone. He dialed the number from the address book, some unknown area code, and listened to it ring. Janie sat on the floor in front of the TV, and Tommy watched cartoons over her shoulder as the phone rang and rang.
    “Hello?” the female voice said. She sounded tired. Tommy opened his mouth. He didn’t know if it was Audrey or not, didn’t know what to say in either case. “Hello?” she said again. Tommy hung up the phone.
    “Why you want to talk to Audrey?” Janie said.
    “I dunno. Where’s she live now?”
    “Las Vegas,” Janie said.
    “What she doing there?”
    Janie shrugged. “Working. Something. I don’t know.”
    “Something,” Tommy repeated. “That’s about right for her. Think she takes her clothes off for money?” He laughed. Too perfect. “You want some money, Janie?”
    The girl turned from the TV. “What do I have to do for it?”
    Tommy shook his head. “Not a thing. Just don’t let your pops know I stopped by today.” He took Janie’s money from his pocket and peeled a dollar bill from the crumpled wad. “Put that in your piggy bank.” Janie stepped to Tommy slowly as the bill dangled from his fingertips like an attractive piece of fruit on a sharp and twisted tree. Janie took the paper in her hand and pulled. He held the bill tight for a moment, looked her in the eye and flashed his chip-toothed smile. “Put it there now.”
    Tommy released the bill and Janie backed away a few steps before turning toward the hall. Tommy watched her turn the corner. He leaned forward on the couch and felt underneath it for the knockoff Tupperware he knew was there. Tommy pulled out the plastic container and popped it open, his smile growing as he looked at the neat rows of prepackaged buds, all half-ounce and quarter-ounce baggies rolled tight and tidy. He removed a fistful of baggies, revealing the black pistol beneath, a snub nose .38. Tommy looked to the hall again before snatching the gun and putting it into his pocket. He replaced the plastic container and stood from the couch, stuck the money and drugs in his pocket and then hit the door, stepping out into the warming sunshine.
    Corbin was walking up to the trailer as Tommy hopped down the shaky metal stairs. His brother gave Tommy a nod. “They home?”
    “Fuck should I know, faggot?” Tommy looked over his shoulder and spat. “I was never there.”

    Tommy was out of cigarettes when he got to the Circle K. He sucked the last from the last and tossed the smoking butt into the back of an old pickup truck full of cans and then rapped his knuckles on the glass for the benefit of the sleeping Chihuahuas inside. The dogs startled awake and barked at Tommy with a hyper vigilance that suggested they did not like to be caught napping. An old but large man in a gray cowboy hat stepped out of the store as Tommy approached the door.
    The dogs continued barking and Tommy laughed as he heard the old man yell, “Shut the fuck up!” through the glass. Tommy wiped his brow with his forearm. He breathed in deep the cool of the store.
    “Gimme some wraps,” Tommy said to the boy behind the counter.
    “Tops or what?” the kid said, looking up from his phone.
    “Zig Zags. The orange ones.”
    The cashier turned his back and—quick as greased diarrhea—Tommy leaned over the counter and snatched two red packs of cigarettes from the overhead dispenser. The boy turned around and rang up the rolling papers. “Anything else?” he said. “It’s two-oh-four.”
    Tommy paid two dollars and pointed to the take a penny dish for the rest. He took his papers, spun around and saw a man standing at the door, a little under six feet according the height-strip posted next to the door. No build. Any size he had was flab.