J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die Read Online Free Page B

whether he should go home, but Tommy said his family needed the money and he wanted to work.” She looked away. “That’s when he also decided to fight. He wanted to improve the conditions of the workers, and we were making some progress. Then he disappeared.”
    Jane looked at the picture of Tommy holding the sign.
    “I was kind of hoping he had gone home, but now you’re here looking for him.” She shook her head.
    “ We’ll figure out what to do.” Michael knew he sounded silly as soon as he heard himself say it. He had no idea what to do. But before he could recover, a loud, rusted pickup truck stopped in front of the office.
    There were three young white kids in the front, and another four in the open back of the truck. All of them were drinking. Music blasted from the truck’s aftermarket speakers, and the driver revved the engine.
    Kermit, Michael, and Jane turned, trying to figure out what they were yelling.
    One of the boys in the back stood up. He had a short, military-style haircut, although he was way too young to be in the military. 
    He narrowed his eyes and pinched his lips together in concentration. Then his arm cocked back. He threw a paper bag at the office’s large plate-glass window.
    It hit with a thud.
    The bag broke and a brown mass of feces ran down the window.
    Kermit, Michael and Jane sat frozen. Before any of them could move, the truck sped away with the horn sounding, “Dixie,” like the General Lee in the old “Dukes of Hazzard” television show.
    “ You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Michael said.
    “ Welcome to the other Florida.” Jane looked up at the faded and peeling paint on the ceiling. She closed her eyes, almost ready to cry. “If you’re looking for retirees, South Beach and Disney World, you’ve got the wrong one. This part of Florida is still fighting the Civil War.”
    Kermit stood. He clapped his hands together.
    “Time to find a bar, yo.”
     

CHAPTER SIX
    The bar was about a half-mile from downtown, but clearly a part of “old” Jesser. Jane said it was a safe place to talk.
    As they drove, Jane narrated the local landmarks. The businesses and the people they saw quickly fell into one of three categories. Either they were friends, enemies or enablers.
    Jane was most frustrated with the enablers. These were people who lived their lives ignorant of what was happening to the workers in the fields and who were comfortable taking money from anybody who had it.
    “ They just don’t care. They just want a lot of stuff as cheaply as possible.”
    Jane stopped rambling about systems and hierarchy. She pointed at a squat, concrete building with a gravel parking lot.
    “But these folks are friends,” she said, directing Michael to turn.
    Michael drove into the lot, parked, and they got out.
    The cinderblock building was a bar. It had a few small windows, with lighted signs for Bud and Coors. Metal bars stretched over each; it was unclear whether they were keeping people out or keeping people in.
    On the top of the building, there was a rusted neon sign with a flashing arrow designating the site as, ‘The Box Bar.’  Michael looked at the sign, then at the building.
    “Aptly named.”
    They started walking toward the door, and Michael felt his stomach growl. The sun was setting and he realized that he hadn’t really eaten anything all day.
    “Does this place have food?”
    “ Sort of,” Jane said. “Greasy food, beer, and free popcorn.” 
    Michael nodded.
    “Perfect.”
    As they walked inside the front door, a stream of light cut through the darkness, and then disappeared as soon as the door closed. The regulars had already found their places at the bar. They were settled in for the night and didn’t really give them a second look.
    “There’s my little Janie!” A large Hispanic man with a ponytail emerged from the kitchen. “We’ve been missing you.” He walked over to them and gave Jane a big hug. He stepped back. “Who are your