Streets on Fire Read Online Free

people in California have,” the big man with the scar said. “That’s part of the point. After we do it, who would you look for? Would you come looking for us?”
    “Nobody’s looking now , man.”
    “They will. Look, here’s the theory. My uncle used to play bridge using the Chico Marx system. He never consulted with his partner at all, just called out crazy bids—three hearts, one no-trump, five spades, whatever—and he never let on. He said it gave his team an edge. One hundred percent of the other team was confused, but only fifty percent of his team was.”
    “You told us all that before, K,” the bearded man said with a hint of annoyance. “Very funny and all, but I mean, really, what are we doing?”
    “Okay. Really. I mean, cross my heart, right? Really . Sorry I didn’t use little words. Here it is: We’re the Green Berets of the fed-up honest people of this country. We know that multiculturalism as an idea and a social experiment has up and died. It sounded nice, it made some people feel real good inside, but it just didn’t work out. People want to live with their own kind. We’re not nutcases, we’re just facing the facts ahead of the crowd. And, one of the facts we get to face tonight is we got to muddy the waters a bit now because we—that’s you , fuckhead—screwed up so big-time.”
    “Is this Christian?” the man in back asked.
    “We’re about to make a big wood cross. Can you think of anything more Christian than that?”
    *
    Jack Liffey never failed to get a kick out of the giant brown doughnut. It was a good twenty feet in diameter and crested the little drive-up building at Vernon and 11th like the beacon of some high-fat religion stuck in the heart of the black west side.
    “Hi, Josette, Ivan in?”
    She looked up from a flat tray of sugary crullers. Ivan Monk had bought the doughnut shop with his Merchant Marine savings to tided him over during slack times in the private eye business. Jack Liffey wished he had something similar as fallback. Josette Williams, Ivan Monk’s only full-time employee, looked a lot thinner than he remembered, and a bit abstracted.
    “Jack. He workin’ in back. You gettin’ any?”
    “Regular as clockwork. He came back and leaned on the counter to take a good look at her. “What’s the matter, Job?”
    She winced. “I been had a pretty bad time, thank you for axing. I got to using the Big Bad Boy for a time, but I went cold. They got me on the methadone.”
    “I thought crack was the thing now.”
    “You out in left field. H is back for sure, but not for this girl. I know it be end up losing me my Jimmy.”
    “I’m glad you’re clean. If Mar and I can help you any, let me know.”
    “Thank you kindly, Jack. Maybe you could take Jimmy to the basketball some time.”
    Ivan was down a corridor behind a swing door in an inner office. He was on the telephone and beckoned Jack Liffey in. Ivan was the size of a pro linebacker and always looked like he wanted to tear your arm off, but he had a sweet side. You just had to be around long enough for it to show itself.
    He had a sheaf of papers he was studying on his desk. “I want you to change that same stuff on page fifty-five, too. I’m not like that. You see, down ten lines, it say, ‘You just a no-good yellow motherfuckin’ dog.’ That’s lame , man.” He made about a dozen faces, as if an idea was working its way painfully down a constricted pipe. “Okay, then, you get back to me , Gary.”
    He put the phone down.
    “Hey, Jack. What it is? Guy there is writing up my life. Him and me working on a screenplay about bein’ a detective in South LA and I got to make sure he get it right.”
    “Is that what kept you from taking the Amilcar Davis case?”
    He shook his head. “I wouldn’t go near that one. Nothing but grief in it. I say to myself, give it to that Jack Liffey guy. He likes grief.”
    “Gee, thanks, Ive. I’ll do you a favor sometime. What is it worries you about the