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

words, so when Campbell sicced his bodyguards on me a few minutes later, it didn’t take long before I laid them both out. After I was done knocking those two assholes around, I turned toward Campbell to throw him a beating. I was shocked to find him looking more impressed than scared.
    Next thing I knew, I was being offered a job as a knock-around guy. In the beginning, I really had no idea what Campbell did for a living, but the money he was offering was good and I figured that I would find out soon enough. Soon enough came almost immediately as I found out that it was my duty to beat the living hell out of people and obtain from them whatever Campbell needed. I did good work, and shortly thereafter, I had made a name for myself. Campbell promoted me up the ranks, and before I knew it, I was a hired gun. That was where the fun was. That was where I got my training for what I’m about to do. I often wonder where I would be today if I hadn’t burned my bridge with Campbell. I probably would never have struck out on my own. Not that it really matters. What’s done is done. No use focusing on the past. I gotta stay in the present.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I ask the goon as I duct-tape him into the seat. He mumbles something incoherent. I look into his eyes. “Sorry.”
    When I yank the duct tape from his mouth, he screams, so I punch him in the jaw and he quits making noise in a hurry. His eyes wobble, but he’s a tough guy and he shakes it off pretty quick. I move to the shelf.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” I ask again. He spits a mouthful of blood and teeth onto the concrete floor. That’s just the beginning of the mess, so I don’t utter a word of complaint. Jacks’s guys will clean this all up, spic and span.
    â€œJeff,” he says. He talks like he has a mouthful of marbles. I guess that’s what a good sock in the face can do. I turn around and look at him. The wound on his scalp is bleeding good and the blood is running down his forehead. If I was anyone else, I might actually feel sorry for him. But I’m not.
    â€œHow’s your head?”
    â€œIt hurts like a son of a bitch.”
    â€œAn inch further down and it would’ve hurt a lot more,” I tell him. I can see in his eyes that he already knows this. He doesn’t respond. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but I can see his eyes screaming with terror. I nod at him and plug my drill into the wall. I pull the trigger a few times to rev it up. “Let’s get moving, shall we?”
    I take a few steps toward Jeff. Close enough so that I can put the drill bit against his trembling kneecap. If his legs weren’t taped to the chair, his knees knocking together would probably be deafening. His eyes burn into mine, filled with hate but pleading for me to stop. They’re now filled with a fine mixture of anger and horror. I can tell that he’s probably going to be a tough nut to crack.
    â€œThis can go one of two ways, Jeff.” This is the speech I give everyone that I bring down here. “You can spill it now or you can spill it later. The end result is going to be the same.” I take my cigarettes out of my pocket and light one. Jeff gets up enough courage to spit in my direction. A fine mixture of blood and saliva spatters onto my Converse. I grit my teeth. I hate getting my shoes dirty.
    I take a deep drag off the cigarette. “Well, I can already see how this is going to turn out.”
    I fire up the drill and bear down hard.
    For a moment, I’m not sure which is worse: the screams of pain, the smell of bone, or the fact that I’m not half as liquored up as I should be.
    To me, the answer is obvious.

Twenty-some Minutes Later
    â€œI think this might be worse than upstairs,” Jacks says to me. He hands me a fresh bottle. I take the cigarette from my lips and down half the liquid inside. Even though Jacks has his hand out expecting the