Running Scared
Running Scared
“It was only two blocks down and one over from his mother’s place. Jesus, she lived in a dump. No wonder she drank so much. Or maybe she lived there because she drank. Whatever. The place sucked.
He shifted his shoulders, missing the weight of his backpack. Socks had made him lock it in the trunk, saying that Joey would freak if someone he didn’t know walked into his private space with a backpack.
“Man, from the look of this shit,” Tim said, “your fence is lucky to have two dollar bills side by side. Where’d he get the cash to buy the gold?”
“Follow me,” Socks muttered. “And don’t say nothing. I’ll handle Joey.”
With a shrug, Tim followed his buddy through the opening in the counter. He laughed out loud when he saw the door hidden in the cabinet full of busted, rusted guns, and then he whistled when he walked into the real workplace.
“Nice,” Tim said, looking at the rainbow of gems and gold in the locked jewelry display.
“Yeah. He does okay. Hey, Joey! Where the hell are you?”
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