Underbelly Read Online Free Page A

Olympic, Magrady cashed his monthly $719.32 veteran’s disability check. Through a pilot program partnered with the bank and Legal Resources and Services, their homeless veterans rep had helped him set up a bank account. He deposited twenty bucks and got some quarters for a five.
    Two bus rides and an hour and eighteen minutes later, he walked into the Hornet’s Hive on Manchester near Cimarron. Somewhere in the haze that occupied part of his brain, Magrady had the impression he’d been here before, but when was lost to pickled memory. Local radio station KJLH was tuned in over the speakers.
    â€œGimme a club soda,” he requested of the woman bartender. She took an anemic swipe with her rag as he sat before her at the bar. A few patrons, including a pensioner with a metal walking cane, also inhabited the gloomy dive, but none sat together and chatted. The Hornet was where you came to drink and mope and hope for another day. It was also where Savoirfaire was known to conduct his shady business, Magrady had learned.

    â€œHere you go, trooper,” she said, placing his glass on a coaster. “That’ll be one-fifty.”
    Magrady forked over a couple of ones and asked, “Any of Savoirfaire’s associates roll through here lately?”
    The bartender was a dark-skinned, large framed, worldly-looking woman with more muscle on her arms than flab. She wore an Angels baseball cap and pendulum earrings.
    â€œWhy?”
    His response was a noncommittal shrug. “Need to tighten up with him, you know.”
    â€œHe something to you?”
    Magrady slowly sipped his seltzer. “What difference does that make? We both know he’s gone to the happy hunting grounds.”
    She chuckled. “You don’t sound too upset about that.”
    â€œAre you?”
    The old timer in a worn heavy work shirt with the metal cane leaning against his stool spoke up, clearing phlegm and settled smoke from his voice box. “Hit me like you mean it, Gladys.” He shook his glass.
    Gladys gave Magrady a put-upon smile, then went to fill the pensioner’s order. When she returned she leaned closer, “You don’t seem stupid.”
    Now he chuckled. “Hardheaded maybe.” He had more of his fizzy water. “Had a play auntie named Gladys.”
    â€œThat right?” she said, her smile revealing a tooth with a tiny star-shaped diamond in it.
    â€œWould I kid you?”
    â€œI imagine you might.” She adjusted some items below the bar. “Why you so hot to get with any of them fools that ran with Savoirfaire?” And as if on cue, Gladys’ eyes shifted from him to the two new clients who entered from the sunlight into the cloying dimness of the bar.
    She didn’t say anything else to Magrady as her expression told him what time it was.
    â€œHey now, girl,” one of the men said, latching onto the bar. “What up?” He was at least ten years the bartender’s junior. His homie sprawled in one of the ancient red leather booths.
    â€œSame old shit,” she answered, automatically taking a swipe with her rag in front of him.
    Magrady waited until the newcomer placed his order, then pivoted toward him on his stool. The man was dressed in slacks, a colorful shirt and a snap-brim hat.
    â€œJust being curious, but did you inherit Savoirfaire’s Escalade?”
    The man barely acknowledged Magrady as Gladys returned with his bottled beers. He then nudged his head toward the booth. “Over here,” he said.
    Magrady followed and sat opposite the two. The second man, in a velour tracksuit, had red eyes complimented by a marijuana fragrance.
    â€œDude here knew Savoirfaire.” The neatly dressed one tipped back some beer.
    â€œAin’t that fascinatin’,” his associate slurred, straightening up. He didn’t take a sip. He did reach a hand below the table and Magrady then felt the tap of the gun’s muzzle against his