The Rented Mule Read Online Free Page A

table. He dropped bills on the table, leaving a $1.37 tip.
    As he walked across the street to his BMW, he pressed the unlock button and the lights flashed. Sitting in the car, he ran his fingers through his hair and thought about the chaos he was about to set in motion. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled.
This is some serious shit, and I’ve planned every detail. It’s flawless. It’s freakin’ brilliant!
    He cranked the car and then adjusted the radio, stopping on an old Eagle’s song. He pulled onto Highway 182, headed east to the infamous Flora-Bama—a beach bar sitting atop the state lines of Florida and Alabama. As he drove, he recalled the instructions he had been given. He was to sit at the end of the bar at exactly ten o’clock and light one match every minute until he was approached. Checking his pockets, he felt the book of matches and an envelope with $10,000 in one hundred dollar bills. Reaching under his seat, he pulled out his hammerless Smith & Wesson .38 revolver.
    When he parked his car in the crowded parking lot, he untucked his navy blue golf shirt to hide the bulges in his pockets. His khaki shorts and boat shoes matched what half the crowd would be wearing. The other half would be bikers or wannabes. Although preppy, he appeared average, and he hoped very forgettable. Smiling boldly at himself in the rearview mirror, he brimmed with excitement.
    “Let’s do this,” he said aloud as he walked toward the neon signs and the loud, rowdy crowd that was already spilling outside.
    He paid the cover charge and then headed toward the back, deep into the crowded bar. Hot women were everywhere, dancing and having a great time. As he worked his way through the mob, he tried not to get too distracted bythe tanned scenery. He became anxious when he spotted a big, burly guy with a blue jean vest and tattoos covering his arms sitting at the far end of the bar—his conceit evaporating at the sight of the huge muscular biker. He was going to have to ask the mountain to move.
    “Hey, man. I need that seat… if you don’t mind.”
    The big dude didn’t acknowledge him.
    “I’ll make it worth your trouble,” he yelled over the music.
    Still no response.
    “Look, if I buy you a beer, will you let me sit there?” he asked loudly, and again he was met with zero acknowledgement. He glanced at his Rolex but couldn’t see the hands well enough to tell the time. Growing anxious, he held his left wrist toward a neon beer light and saw that he had less than five minutes.
    “Okay, dude… look… this is my final offer,” he almost screamed as he grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket. “Here’s a hundred. All you gotta do is let me sit right there. Okay?”
    “Make it two and you gotta deal,” the big guy mumbled loud enough to be heard and then took a huge swallow of cold beer.
    Gritting his teeth and looking at his Rolex, he realized that this was wasting time and decided it was just another business expense.
    “Okay. Here. Take it. Now, can I sit down?” He was practically begging. He took another quick but futile glance at his watch.
    The enormous man grabbed the money and then his beer and with a grunt pushed his way into the crowd.
    Relief flooded him as he quickly sat down, nervously exhaling. His buddy could get him anything for the rightprice; they had worked several past deals and had formed a fast alliance based solely on cash and results.
    He lit a match and held it in front of his face while it burned. Very few people even looked at him. As the second match burned brightly, he glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention.
    The female bartender noticed and placed an ashtray and a bar napkin in front of him, asking, “Whattaya have?”
    Wondering if this was part of the plan, he thought for the correct answer and when nothing came to mind, he just said, “Coors Light.”
    She nodded, reached into the cooler, grabbed and opened the bottle, and then sat it on the