Frag Box Read Online Free Page B

Interstate ditch and into an area of old factories and warehouses, somewhere near Railroad Island. The streetlights got very far apart there, and about a block past the bridge, they disappeared completely. I was beginning to wish I had hit Lefty up for a flashlight as well as a piece.
    Over behind an old industrial building that had been partly made into artists’ lofts and partly abandoned to squatters, some street people were huddled around a trash fire in an old barrel. They were a younger and tougher-looking bunch than the usual pack of lost souls and dehorns that hang around in that area, and if I’d been smart, I’d have probably just kept walking. But there was no more pristine snow, and no more distinct tracks. They were my last hope for picking up the trail again.
    I headed over to see what I could learn from the great unwashed.
    “Here comes another one.”
    “Another what?” A second shapeless bundle of rags looked up from the fire.
    “Sit-ee-zen, man, what you think?”
    “Nah, this one ain’t no citizen. This one ain’t got no ramrod up his ass, like that last dude.”
    “Bet he ain’t got no badge, neither.”
    “Does he gots money, is what the thing is.”
    “I can think of some ways to find out.”
    “Think of one that don’t get us all busted.”
    “Shit, man.”
    “Shit is right. You think I’m playin’ y’all here?”
    “Shit.”
    That seemed to be the consensus, all right.
    There were five of them altogether, and I found their talk about another sit-ee-zen more than a bit interesting. But before I was likely to hear any more of it, there was some physical protocol to take care of. A little respect, a little threat, a little reward. Not the way the cops do it. Let them know you’re not afraid of them, but let them wonder if they should be afraid of you. Easy, easy. First, though, find a place where they can’t get behind you.
    I caught the eye of the big black guy who was doing most of the talking, held up my last twenty from the pool game, and let him get a good look at it. Then I went over to a niche in the back of the closest industrial building, an inside corner by a loading dock. He looked at his buddies as if wanting their approval. They didn’t react, which was good news. It meant they probably weren’t a regular gang. The big guy shuffled over to me, and the others followed about five yards back.
    “Rough night to be out,” I said.
    “’Pends on if you with you friends, man.”
    “Yeah, well it’s always good to have friends,” I said. I took the .38 out of my pocket and let my arm hang by my side, partially lost in the folds of my coat. Then I rotated the piece outward, toward him, giving him just a bit of a look.
    “I’m real scared, man. So what you lookin’ for, with your big-assed strap and your little bitty double sawbuck?”
    “Two guys, a cop and a big kid, came by here maybe fifteen minutes ago, tops.”
    “You shittin’ me? That’s it? You ain’t lookin’ for ol’ Cee Vee’s squat?”
    That got my attention, but I tried not to show it too much. I tore the twenty in half and gave him one piece of it.
    “First, the cop and the kid,” I said.
    “For that crappy piece of paper? Go fuck yourself.”
    “Listen, man, what’s your name?”
    He glared at me for a while, just to show me he didn’t have to tell me if he didn’t want to. Then he did it anyway.
    “Linc.”
    “Okay Linc, tell me. You know about the stick and the carrot?”
    “What’s that, some rock group?”
    “That’s the two things you can get, to make you feel like talking to me. Twenty is all the carrot I’ve got. After that’s gone, we go to the stick. Trust me, you don’t want that.”
    “You a cop?” said one of the other worthies, who was sidling his way up to me along the dock face.
    Didn’t I wish? If I were a cop, I could call for backup. I took a deep breath and tried again.
    “No. I’m also not a fed or a social worker or a preacher or a politician. And that