The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1) Read Online Free

On screen was a “Cheers” re-run. “Dial don’t never get turned off from 5.”
    Frank gave him the smile that launched a thousand Nielson wins. “That’s great to hear.”
    “ Everybody just like your style, Frank. Just figure it ain’t the news less you give it.”
    Frank took a sip. “I appreciate that, Jackson. Were you watching tonight when that car blew up?”
    “ Oh, I seen it all right. Jesus, that poor woman and her kids.”
    “ Yeah, you think you’ve seen everything in this town, and then there’s this.”
    The bartender nodded. “You know the guy they lookin’ for, the one that own the car? He come into the bar.”
    Frank put the beer down. “Tonight?”
    “ No, not tonight. I mean he been in here maybe five-six times.”
    The man with the skinny arms obviously wanted into this conversation and finally made his move. “I seen that bomb go too, Frank. Seen one go up in person down in Florida one time. Fuckin’ awesome, man.”
    Unhappy with the interruption, Frank gave the man only a glance. “I’ll bet.” He asked Jackson, “So when was this guy in here last?”
    Skinny Arms jumped in again. “You fuckin’ bet. So, Frank, what’s that Mary Scott bitch like? You ever lay the old sausage on her?”
    Frank stared at the man: the eyes red-rimmed, the nose bent, the black hair thinning badly, the pallor distinctly unhealthy. The phrase “under a rock” came to mind. “Mary’s a nice girl, and I’m happily married.”
    “ Hey, what I hear, Frank, you fuck anything walks upright.”
    Frank smiled at the man, whose nose needed wiping. With a reasonably adept impersonation, he said: “Yeah, fuckin’ awesome, man.” Then he turned away. “So, Jackson, this Anthony Peoples who owned the car, when was he in here last?”
    “ Don’t know, maybe two month ago. I only know him cause his cousin use to come in here all the time.”
    “ Who’s his cousin?”
    “ Guy named Richard Mahone. ‘Pretty Rick’ they called him. Also called him ‘Maserati Rick’ cause he like them Eye-talian cars. Say he was a roller. Big time.”
    “ The same ‘Maserati Rick’ we did a story on recently?"
    “ Yeah, when they murdered his ass. Back a month or two, I guess.”
    “ And he was buried in a coffin made out of parts from his favorite vehicle. So who’s ‘they,’ Jackson?”
    “ They?”
    “ Yeah, who murdered his ass?”
    “ Who knows?”
    “ Probably friends in the dope business?”
    Jackson got busy wiping the bar and cocked his head. “Could be.”
    Skinny Arms barged in again: “Speaking of friends, Frank, one of yours did me a big ass favor a while back.”
    Frank decided the smile wouldn’t work on this guy. “Yeah, I’ll bet. Look, pal, I’m having an interesting conversation here with my friend Jackson, and you keep interrupting.”
    Skinny Arms dialed up to belligerent. “So I’m not interesting, eh, Frank? Well, fuck you, man. That friend a yours I was talkin’ about? Happens to be his honor, Judge Bill J. O’Bryan.”
    Frank stared into the man’s red eyes. “Bullshit.”
    “ Yeah, bullshit, eh. Well, I caught a crack case a while back woulda put me away for 20 years, so I make a little charitable contribution to the judge through my lawyer, and poof! It all goes away.”
    With a long look at the guy’s mouth, Frank decided there was a distinct resemblance to the rodent family. “So who’s your attorney?”
    The narrow, pale face puffed with rage. “Oh, so now you’re interested, eh, Frank, you fuckin’ phony! Let’s see you tell that story on the fuckin’ First at Five News.”
    “ I don’t tell bullshit stories, pal. Give me your attorney’s name, and I’ll check it out.”
    “ Oh, sure you will, Frank, you fuckin’ phony. He’s another one of your fuckin’ friends.”
    Suddenly animated, Jackson had moved around from behind the bar. Now he was all over the Rat Man, grabbing him by the back of the belt and the greasy hair over the nape of his neck.