Underbelly Read Online Free Page B

knee.
    â€œWhere’s our money, bitch?” Red Eyes demanded, his voice suddenly clear as spring water.
    â€œLet’s go outside so you can hear us better,” his partner suggested.
    On the narrow strip of a parking lot alongside the Hornet’s Hive, Red Eyes jabbed the muzzle of his Glock into Magrady’s fleshy side. He enjoyed intimidating. “Now what’d you say, old school?”
    â€œI told you I don’t know anything about any money that Curray owed you,” the vet answered.
    â€œYou did say that,” Red Eyes’ partner offered, adjusting his snap-brim hat. He scanned the boulevard for possible interruptions. An elderly stooped woman trudged by, pulling her groceries in a cart with a bent hub. He stepped into Magrady’s orbit.
    â€œWhy you sucking around about Savoirfaire?”
    â€œHe owes me money too. I’ve been on the look for him and that’s how I wound up here.” Magrady gestured a thumb at the outside wall of the bar. On it was a faded and chipped mural of Malcolm X on a motorcycle, Pancho Villa casually holding an AK, and Selena dressed like Wonder Woman. Villa was on a horse and Selena on what looked to be flying disk. The three were side by side on a hill. There was no graffiti sprayed on the images.
    â€œWhy the fuck would somebody like the Sav owe an old punk-ass like you money?” Red Eyes snickered as he looked Magrady up and down and glared at his face. “You’re bullshittin’.” To emphasize his point, he jammed the gun in Magrady’s stomach, causing him to grimace.
    Red Eyes taunted, “Don’t like it in the belly, huh?”
    Magrady remained silent, assessing if he had any options.
    â€œWho are you?” the calmer one in the hat and print shirt said.
    â€œI told you.”
    â€œYou told us what you wanted to, but that’s not what I asked.”
    â€œThat’s right, pops, it ain’t.” Red Eyes made to punch him in the gut again with the business end of the pistol and Magrady grabbed his arm with both hands. He twisted that arm and pivoted his hip into the other man’s side. Magrady hoped his reflexes remembered those long-ago judo lessons he’d taken during basic. Damned if he didn’t flip his tormentor over his shoulder and slam his butt onto the asphalt.
    â€œMothahfuckah,” the downed man swore.
    Still holding onto that arm. Magrady placed his foot into Red Eyes’ armpit and turned his wrist viciously. The gun came loose.
    â€œI’m impressed,” the second hood said genuinely. He drove a fist into Magrady’s already tender stomach and followed that with a clip to the jaw that was brutally effective.
    Magrady teetered and tried to keep his feet under him, figuring he was in for a boxing lesson. Only Red Eyes wasn’t through. He picked up his gun and backhanded it across Magrady’s face. The older man fell against the fender of a Volkswagen, and slid down against the car’s tire well. The two now towered over him.
    â€œYou better stay away from ’round here and don’t be nose’n into our bid’ness,” the one in the hat stated. “I don’t know what the hell you’re sniffing around for, but this shit don’t concern you, understand?”
    â€œYeah,” Magrady said.
    â€œI said do you understand?” he repeated forcefully, but in an even tone. Through all of this, he hadn’t spoken above a normal tone.
    â€œYes,” the beaten man repeated.
    â€œGood for you.” Red Eyes kicked him in the thigh and the two left in a dark blue Scion. Rather than rap blaring from its speakers, country and western music pumped from the vehicle as they drove off.
    Magrady sat up and recuperated, breathing heavily through his mouth for several minutes. A decades-old Ford pickup with a bed-over toolbox pulled into the lot. The driver, in matching plaster-smeared khakis and shirt, took a long look at