Crime Always Pays Read Online Free

now?'
              Rossi, staking out the cop shop buzzed on horse tranks and a tetanus shot and crooning some croaky Elvis, had Sleeps on edge.
    'What you're singing,' Sleeps said, 'is the guy steals a gun and buys a car.'
              'Sure. He tries to run but he don't get far, so he steals a gun and buys a car.'
              'It's the other way round, man.'
              'Your way,' Rossi said, ' their  way, that's just propaganda. Like, the guy's a no-hoper, a clown. My way, the guy's running, okay? I mean actually running. But then he goes, "Hey, the fuck am I running when I could be driving?" Except he's skint, yeah? So he steals a gun, heists a place, I dunno, maybe a bank, a bookies, and gets himself a poke. Then buys a car. You see what I'm saying.'
    'What you  said  was, you didn't want to hang around outside the cop shop.' Sleeps aiming for reasonable. 'This on the off-chance the guy we  stole  the car off picks this shop to report it, sees us on his way in.'
              'Where's the last place,' Rossi said, 'the cops'll be looking for us?'
              'Outside a cop shop, yeah, you already said. But --'
    'She's in there now, Sleeps, getting hell from the commissioner. She's a disgrace, the whole nine yards. But he's giving her one more chance and she better not blow it.'
              'It was me? I'd be on the blower to my brief, crying post-traumatic stress disorder. Perforated eardrums, the works.'
              Rossi shook his head. 'This one's tough, Sleeps. You see the way she faced me down up at the lake? I mean, with no rod, nothing. Just stepped up, gave me the eyeball.'
              Sleeps, who'd been half a mile away at the time, snoozing at the bottom of a gully in a Beamer that'd slipped sideways off the muddy track, said, 'Rossi?'
              'What?'
              'It ever occur to you, with all these movies you're always bigging up, how the cops generally win in the end? You never noticed that?'
              Rossi sniffed. 'More propaganda.' Then he stiffened. 'Shit, here she comes.'
              Sleeps heaved his huge bulk forward, reaching for the keys in the ignition. 'Annnnnd there she goes,' he said, slumping back in his seat as the cop turned a sharp right into the coffee shop two doors down. 'With,' he added, 'another cop in tow. Christ, it's the  Fear and Loathing  convention over there.'
     
     
     
     
     
    Karen
     
    Terry Swipes rattled off the numbers like a bingo caller speaking in tongues. 'We'll say ten for Karen's passport. And Terry Junior gets his five points finders-fee off the gross for setting up the snatch. And that's five points from both of us.'
    Ray, counting bills onto Terry's desk, nodded. 
    'So that's what,' Terry went on, 'thirty in total? Including the van.' Ray nodded again. 'Okay,' Terry said, 'we'll call it thirty flat. I'll waive my cut.'
              Ray stopped counting. 'You'll what?'
              'Waive.' Terry grinned across at Madge. 'What, I'm not entitled to waive?'
              'Yeah, but --'
              'Call it a good luck gift. From me to the happy couple.'
              Karen, sitting beside Madge on the dimpled leather couch, nudged Madge's knee. Madge wiggled an elbow into Karen's ribs, sipped on her brandy and gave Karen a deadpan stare over the rim of the glass. Madge looking a little bright-eyed to Karen, flushed on something more than brandy.
    'Fifty grand's a lot of good luck,' Ray said. 'You think we need that much good luck?'
              'You're driving across Europe,' Terry swiveled in his leather chair, hands joined on his ample belly, 'with a busted arm and a wolf in the back. You packing?'
              'Not yet,' Ray said. 'I'll grab the Sig from the lock-up.'
              'An automatic with a busted arm? What if it jams?'
              'It's never jammed