The Adventures of Jack Lime Read Online Free Page A

ago, and these were silly kids’ games.
    â€œI parked on the highway,” I said.
    â€œThen you walked?” the third one asked. His name was Derek Sanders. Everyone calls him Heavy because he tips the scales at close to three hundred pounds, but couldn’t be more than five foot eight. Heavy is also blessed with hair as red as a carrot, which makes him about as hard to spot as fireworks on the Fourth of July.
    â€œThat’s right, chief,” I said. “I needed the exercise.”
    â€œWhatever,” Big Head grunted. “What are you looking for?”
    â€œA bike,” I said. “Something cheap, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œYeah, I think I know what you mean,” Heavy said, and winked at his compadres. Then he turned and disappeared into the trees.
    When Heavy came back, he was wheeling a slick yellow and black mountain bike. It had heavy-duty wheels, shocks and lots of gears. This was not Ronny’s bike. But at that particular moment, it wasn’t the bike I was concerned about. It was the beast emerging from the trees behind the bike that got my attention. Sneer, Big Head and Heavy were intimidating in their own bungling kind of way, but this guy was tall and pumped up. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt, worn-out jeans and work boots that weren’t laced up. He had one cigarette behind his right ear and another dangling between his lips as if it had been forgotten. This was Bucky King, in the flesh.
    â€œIs this what you’re looking for?” Heavy asked, stopping the bike in front of me. Bucky stood a few feet away and lit up his cigarette.
    â€œAh, actually, I was looking for something smaller,” I said, trying to play it cool, “maybe with a few streamers, a banana seat and a little bell.” I had to be careful; I didn’t want to blow my cover.
    â€œYou’re serious?” Sneer asked from off to the side. Big Head had disappeared.
    â€œYeah,” I said, “it’s for my little brother, Tommy. He’s got a thing for streamers, banana seats and little bells.”
    â€œYou must think I’m stupid,” Bucky cut in, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air. “I don’t suppose your little brother’s last name is Lime? Tommy Lime? Is that his name?” he asked, stepping over to me and poking me hard in the chest with a massive finger. “’Cause I’m one hundred percent certain that you’re Jack Lime. My sister told me you might be stupid enough to come down here tonight.”
    â€œYou got me, Bucky,” I said, holding up my hands. “You’re a heck of a lot smarter than you look.”
    â€œNot really,” Bucky said, completely missing my clever insult. “Because everything you’ve tried to pull tonight is so lame a retarded chicken could see through it.”
    â€œYou’re a long way from politically correct, my friend,” I said.
    â€œAnd you’re a long way from Kansas, Dorothy.” The small crowd that had gathered around us had a nice laugh at the expense of yours truly.
    â€œDo you have the bike?” I asked, ignoring the fact that I was in no position to be asking questions.
    Bucky smiled, started to turn away, then spun around and slammed his fist into my gut like a runaway locomotive. The wind blew out of me like a deflating balloon. I tried to crumple, but Big Head grabbed me from behind and held me up. “That’s for my sister,” Bucky said, and took a long drag from his cigarette. “I don’t know what frigging bike you’re looking for Lime, but you mess with me and you’re going to pay.”
    â€œDo you …” I said, sucking in air, “have … the … bike?”
    â€œWhat bike, Lime?” Bucky said.
    â€œStreamers … banana seat … little bell,” I said, just starting to get my breath back. “Ronny … Kutcher’s.”
    â€œKutcher? Sandra