The Dope Thief Read Online Free Page B

The Dope Thief
Book: The Dope Thief Read Online Free
Author: Dennis Tafoya
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Mystery, Hard-Boiled, Fiction - Mystery, Mystery & Detective - Hard-Boiled, Crime & mystery, Mystery And Suspense Fiction, Crime thriller
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stack of twenties and put it in an envelope. He made a show of licking the gum and sealing it. Manny laughed and shook his head, let his long frame settle against Ray’s car, leather jacket flapping open. With his arms folded he looked even more like some great bird poised to erupt into the sky in a blast of lost feathers and rushing sound.
    “Fuck you.” Manny put the money in his jacket. “Ever since you gave up smoking you fucking delight in being a hump. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about holding the money.”
    Ray held up his hands. “Hey, anytime you want it . . .”
    Manny looked at his hands. “The thing is, I asked Sherry to move in.”
    “No shit. Huh.” Ray raised his eyebrows.
    Manny stuck his hands in his pockets, awkward. “You think I’m making a mistake.”
    “No. No I don’t. I like Sherry, she’s a good kid.”
    “But?”
    “Just, does she know, you know. Where the money’s coming from.”
    Manny smiled. “She knows I ain’t a house painter.” A dig at Ray, who in a moment of panic once told this dumb- ass lie to Theresa, who then spent hours on the phone digging up painting jobs around the neighborhood. “She knows I got money and don’t work. She’s been around the block. Shit, we met in rehab. Anyway, she knows not to ask too many questions.”
    “Great, then. She can dole out the money, get the rent paid and keep you from getting your legs broken by Dickie Lagrossa when the Sixers tank. What you owe him now, about twenty grand?”
    “Oh, stop. It’s a couple thousand. Anyway, I got a system.”
    “Yeah, how’s that working?”
    Manny pulled a medal from inside his shirt and kissed it. “And I got Saint Bernadine on my side.”
    Ray said, “You and Arnold Rothstein.” He squinted through the smoke from Manny’s cigarette. “You’re the one asked me to dole out the money. Hey, though, you got to love that there’s a patron saint for gambling degenerates.”
    Manny waved his arm expansively. “There’s a saint for every fucking thing. My ex- wife’s cousin, Deborah?”
    “The good- looking one.”
    “She says there’s a patron saint for meth cookers.”
    Ray held a palm up as if to stop the flow of bullshit. “Get the fuck out.”
    Manny held his hand across his chest, cigarette out. “I swear to Christ. Saint Cosmas, she says. He’s like the patron saint of people who work with chemicals. She was dating that guy, you know the one. Jacques or Jocko or some shit.”
    “I remember. He’s in Graterford now, right?”
    “When she moves in and finds out he’s dealing, she goes to the priest and asks what does she do. You can imagine that conversation.”
    Ray smiled. “He’s cooking in the house, the kid’s there . . .”
    “But deep down he’s a good guy.”
    “A sweet girl, not a smart one.”
    “No. But the priest comes up with Saint Cosmas. And of course that she should dime Jocko.”
    “Which she does.”
    Manny gave a half- shrug. “Of course, the asshole is also beating her and her kid, so . . .”
    “Well, wherever he is, I’m sure Saint Cosmas is looking after him.”
    They stood in the lot for a minute. Ray watched tiny waves cross a coffee- colored puddle. “So . . . the Rick question.”
    “You really think the cops would get onto us and try to put a guy inside?”
    “Don’t seem likely, huh?”
    “What are we, the Dillinger gang? I think we run into trouble, it ain’t going to be that kind. I don’t see nobody calling the cops.”
    They both thought about that. You could only do this shit so long. Someone was going to recognize them, or follow them, or just do something brainless when they came in the door. They wore the cop jackets and badges and they moved with purpose and told themselves they were smart, but there was only so much luck and then it was gone. At the end of the day they were as doomed as the goofy bastards they were ripping off. Manny and Ray would do lines in the truck before they went in, getting their edges sharp,

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