Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) Read Online Free Page A

He’s breathing heavy and his eyes are pleading with me. For what, I’m not sure, but I don’t particularly care. I glance over at what’s left of my overturned chair. I can’t help but scowl.
    â€œWhat happened in here,” I say, turning back to the goon, “that’s as pleasant as it’s going to be.” The goon squeezes his eyes shut as I step over him to get my bag of tricks. I find the duct tape under the kitchen sink. My toolbox is on the counter. That should do the trick. I grab the goon, slap a strip of tape over his mouth, and heave him across my shoulder.
    â€œYou may want to send one of your guys downstairs before they leave,” I tell Jacks as I walk by. He gives me a thumbs-up. I start through the back door of the hallway, then pause and turn back toward Jacks. “And see if you can do something to save my chair.”
    Jacks rolls his eyes. “Levi, let the chair go.”
    â€œI love that chair.”
    â€œI know you do,” Jacks says. “I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
    I nod my gratitude and continue through the door. I can feel the goon start to convulse on my shoulder.
    â€œProbably should’ve run this scenario through your mind first, huh, hotshot?”

One o’Clock
    I see Marijane in the stairway. She sees me, too, but immediately turns away and pretends she doesn’t. That works for me.
    â€œI’m gonna be using the basement,” I tell her as I’m walking by. She rummages through an open box in front of her.
    â€œI see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing,” she says, pretending I’m not walking by, pretending she’s really engrossed in the contents of the box. I don’t say any more. She owns the store beneath the apartments. She’s good at keeping her mouth shut. It only took one threat after she walked in on one of my interrogations. She saw my handiwork, she knows I’m not messing around. She goes about her business, I go about mine, and her trap stays closed. Not that she would really have a choice. Not here. Not with me. She stops rummaging for a moment to sneak a glare at me over her shoulder. “But the Good Lord does.”
    I ignore her, as I normally do. I make my way to the basement and drop the goon on the floor as I reach out to open the door. I hit the light switch and the fluorescent bulbs overhead fizz to life, unveiling the rows of flowers on the walls. Marijane operates a silk flower shop. It’s called Le Jardin. In French, it means “the garden.” It never made much sense to me. I’ve never been to France, but I figure that they must have the real deal over there. Every time I use the basement, it’s like interrogating someone in a fairy tale. At least the scent of spring isn’t in the air.
    I walk into the room, leaving the goon beside the door behind me. Toolbox on the wall shelf, duct tape in my hand. With my hands free, I go back and grab the goon from the floor. He goes in the chair in the center of the room. Nothing new for me. I’ve been here countless times before. The faces change, but the routine is always the same.
    When I first started off in this business, I worked for a guy named Campbell. I met Campbell when he showed up at the bar I worked for looking for the owner. I didn’t like Campbell right off the bat. I had no idea who this suited-up weasel was, but the fact that he came in like he owned the joint and that he was flanked by two guys who looked like they were distant cousins of Magilla Gorilla put a bad taste in my mouth. I asked Campbell what he needed to see Jimmy for, and when Campbell responded that it was none of my fucking business, I told him in great detail what he could do with his business and where he could keep it. Admittedly, I could’ve handled the whole situation better, but I was young and stupid and had a big mouth. Thankfully, I had the moxie to back up my