Momma Lupe, Book 1 in the Ty Connell 'Novella Series. A Mystery/Suspense Thriller. Cooking or killing -- Momma Had Her Funny WAys Read Online Free Page A

other along an long industrial-commercial stretch
of small shopping and commercial malls along Highway 145 which runs
past Logan Airport and northward. Some of these halls were big,
well-lit, and well known. Others more dingy little
hole-in-the-walls.
    Connell’s approach was to go in, watch a game
or two in progress, watch some soccer on the overhead TVs, and
generally try to blend in while he sniff around for a certain
promising type of individual. For this he went on gut instinct.
He’d know his guy when he saw him.
    He went into three establishments and sensed
that each was out of the loop. Finally getting a good feeling about
the fourth. It was a smaller more casual joint in an upstairs unit
in a small commercial mall around the corner from a strip club.
Also less than a mile from one of Paul Veltro's "front" businesses,
a discount furniture store. So its location was promising.
    Connell walked in in his jeans and scuffed-up
leather jacket with a Boston Herald folded and tucked under his
arm, looking like a working guy out to kill a few hours. No one
raised an eyebrow.
    He sat at the bar and nursed a beer and
browsed the paper, getting the lay of the place, and a particular
table of players caught his attention. He took his beer and moved
over and sat on a bench nearby and watched. He made the occasional
comment about some of the shots that were made, and got himself
noticed.
    After a while, one of the players inquired if
had any money to wager.
    He let it be known that,
yes, he did have some money to risk, that he had just signed on as a driver with a
small trucking firm around the corner, and that he had a few hours
to kill before his shift. He was also a fanatical fan of the Irish
National Soccer Team —"the best flipping soccer team in the world!"
That quickly struck a competitive chord among the Italian National
Soccer Team fanatics present and he was immediately razzed for his
poor taste in soccer teams. Another beer or two and he was
cautiously accepted by the small group of players, all young Ginos
in their twenties.
    For most of an hour Connell played with good
humor, lost steadily, and told bad jokes. He gained more cautious
acceptance.
    He noticed that one of the players was a
little more reserved and a little less talkative than the others.
He sensed, from long experience, that this was the guy to get close
to.
    His opportunity came when he was playing
against the guy and managed to get up a few points on him. They
were pretty close on points when the cue ball ended up behind a red
with the seven on the other side, three inches from the corner
pocket.
    Connell eyed the shot from all angles.
    The guy said, "You'll never bank that shot.
You're done, pal."
    Connell was only a fair pool
player and, like most fair pool players, he had just one good trick
shot. It was a shot he had practiced until he could pull it off
most times he attempted it. It involved coming down on the cue ball and jumping it
over an obstructing red to drive another ball into the pocket. Most
other players, when they tried to "jump the ball," as often as not
the cue ball itself followed the struck ball into the pocket. But
Connell had learned how to put a backspin on the cue ball so that
it ran up to the lip, then pulled back. But it was considered a hot
dog maneuver by serious players, and wasn't much appreciated, so he
only pulled it out on rare occasions.
    He knelt and eyed the shot again and said, "I
think I can drop it. You want to bet on the shot?"
    They already had a bet going on the game.
    The Italian guy glanced at Ty, then glanced
at his friends: he'd already committed himself by saying the shot
couldn't be drain.
    "Yeah, sure," he said. "How much?"
    "That's up to you, amigo."
    "You got a hundred?"
    Connell paused as though
coking on the amount. He got that do-I-even-have-a-hundred look and dug
out his wallet. He turned his back for a moment to have a private
peek inside.
    When he turned back, he
said, "Yeah. Okay. I’m good …