Every Man a King by Walter Mosley

Author:Walter Mosley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

Making it to the highway and then toward the suburb, I was on high alert. What if we got stopped? How do you explain a dead man with a bullet in the back of his head?

“What happened to the fifth man?” I asked the question as a distraction.

“Fayez knew how to put pain to work. He bled the soldier till he gave up the information we needed.”

“Then he killed him?” Some distraction.

“I stopped doing that kind of work.”

It took less than an hour to get to the house my cousin had rented. The garage was big enough for two cars the size of mine. Gladstone was already there. He’d made us lime rickeys in tall frosted glasses that were designed for that libation.

“How the fuck Rags get you to shoot a man in broad daylight in Georgia?” I asked Glad.

“Well,” he said, grinning. “If I’m gonna do somethin’ like that, it should be down south, don’t ya think?”

“I think it’s murder.”

“He was hiding in the back seat and had a gun in his hand. I am a cop, you know.”

“You need to get out of Georgia,” Rags said to me. “And wherever you go, it should not be New York. You say Aja and Grandma B are with Ferris?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I can go check out the security and either stay there with ’em or take ’em someplace else.”

“Uh-huh. What about Fayez?”

“Who?” Gladstone asked.

“We’ll stay here and dissolve his contract.”

“Who’s this Fayez?” Gladstone asked again.

While Rags explained, I wondered what I could do. I had to go back to New York, had to.

“Joe,” Glad said.

“What?”

“What you gonna do?”

“Rags is right. I shouldn’t go home, but I have business there. I’ll make sure our family is safe and keep a very low profile.”

The handsome Irishman looked at me, still grinning.

“What’s funny?”

“Some people have heart attacks,” he said. “They get cancer or too drunk and fall down the stairs. All kindsa ways a man could get killed. But you, Joe, you walk through a fucking minefield with blinders on and never even step on a pile of shit.”

“I got a gig in Munich in three days,” Rags said. “I’ll leave you my number but that’s still twenty-four hours away.”

“I can’t be doin’ this shit in my own backyard,” Glad added.

“That’s okay. Both’a you boys have done enough.”

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